# Thirst for Vengeance: A dark elf roleplay



## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

OOC:This is going to be a long ass opening post so, because we are going to be covering days one to 5 on the ship in this post, though more specifically days one and 5, those being the key days, so it is going to be a rather long opening post and throughout this post i will be giving you hints of what i want added. Those that have done my rps before know long ass updates with a ball of expectation and information shoved in em is usually the way i do it.

Those who haven't, it is, so brace yourself. I'm also giving two weeks for this update as it is going to be so bloody long.
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5 days since you strode from the depths of The Bloodied Palace, some of you strode in the shadows, others rode with defiance and murder in their heart, others staggered from the taverns and pleasure houses, your purses considerably lighter but your shoulders far more relaxed.

However since you reached the ship, they have been driven from your mind by the last 5 days across calm waters, yet the atmosphere upon the boat has been anything but, a frantic energy gripping the ship as they embark on a mission that cannot fail.

On the first day, before the ship departed the harbor, you were herded upon the deck, the Kinslayer's dominance as the leading warrior on this mission meaning it was his warriors that stood before you, the warriors of the Karkarin standing, some in already defined units standing in disciplined ranks those that have come of their own intuition or have been released by their units in undisciplined bunches, a melee of differing standards and type of armament displaying the might house karkarin could spare. A good 750 warriors to add to the kinslayers 600, 50 units of 12. Those of house karkarin may realise that 3 thousand are retained to defend the great ark. A house struck by a hammerblow but still a powerful house all the same.

Units of the Kinslayer lounged in tight bunches watching you, staring at you with laughter in their eyes and mischief in their hearts,* Acaman, Ellros and Aradil* you lounge among them. Now i'd like you to take one of the other playing characters from the Karkarin bunch, and he catches your eye for some reason, perhaps as someone to watch or perhaps as someone you are scared would put a knife through your heart. Couple of line description leading to what you think of said person, perhaps it is the raving madness in the eyes of Noctavigant or perhaps the secudctive contours and delicate grace of Myrenith..... your choice.

The Kinslayer strides from his quarters Elena gliding along at his side, *Razyel* you may be shocked and angry that she leaves freely upon this mission when you were so strongly forbidden, might be an excellent trigger for the flashback we've been working on. She lingers a stride behind him, his dominance unquestionable, yet your eyes are drawn to her, the staff in her hand seeming to ripple with pure power. *Meraxes* how like her sister she is in looks and power, perhaps a painful shadow of the woman you used to bear so close to your heart, however you know though she is her twin in that sense, she is so different in mind.

Yet even though Elena dominates the Kinslayer towers, his jet black hair falling down across tremendous powerful shoulders, almost as broad as a man's, his physique grooved by a life at sea and at war. *Laneran* you could not help but note, though few have been able to stand against you for sheer strength amongst the land based you note amongst this band of raiders many are broad and strong from climbing and fighting the elements each day, perhaps their are some that will be able to match you for strength here. Additionally in the kinslayer's broad shoulder you can see a strength you are not sure you could match, the very curve of his bicep as he scratches his chin a pure show of tremendous power.

Despite the strength it is the sorrow and bitter hate dancing in shining green eyes, Indeed, the hate is enough to chill the strongest of you. He does not speak merely nods to his lieutenant who claps his hands. The squad leaders stand from amongst the Kinslayer's units and their eyes turn to the 11 that still sit upon the floor. As one they grunt "you, stand amongst the karkarin". * Acaman, Ellros and Aradil* you find the fingers pointed at you, are you hurt that your are being weeded out from the unit, you cannot help but note though that some of the strongest warriors from the units are also being weeded out, is this a curse or an honor?

Several of the sergeants move to the front to stand in a line before the mix of Karkarin and kinslayer as several of the preformed units are placed under the command of the kinslayer honour guard, 10 warriors of the kinslayer including his only son, Igaroth, each of them descending the ladders to bunk below. 

That leaves you, approximately 200 scattered warriors facing 20 sergeants. The calculation is simple, yet the method of selection is strange, the teams picked almost like a sport, the sergeants coming forth one at a time, staring into faces and muscles, poking at wargear and armour yet what started as genuine curiosity became interspered with coarse jokes and laughter almost as if they look at horses rather than warriors. Several faces go red or white with humiliation amongst the Karkarin, yet though the humiliation is aimed at the karkarin it is the warriors of the kinslayer that are dragged out first, better the devil you know.

* Acaman, Ellros and Aradil* you are dragged out as some of the first picks, in that order,by a tall slender elf by the name of Nagar Dankaroth, the last and most famous of a dying house. Coming into his 5th century his every movement is laden with a willowy grace, eyes filled with sage knowledge. Known to be one of the most deadly shots within the company and also an expert rider, once of the kinslayers favorites, displaced from the honour guard in order to accommodate his son, though none know why he was chosen, rumours of an argument with the kinslayer are unconfirmed. He and another three ancients that stand alongside are the only 4 amongst the sergeants not to indulge in the humiliation, his picks made with a steady hand and a click of his fingers. How do you feel about the humiliation the karkarin are suffering and your new sergeant?

Yet now the humiliation reaches breaking point becoming beyond bearable,and you can see in particular Elena's face contorting with fury, lightening crackling across the fingers of her right hand, before the humiliation becomes too much for one Karkarin and he lashes out for the kinslayer sergeant with a savage headbutt that sends him sprawling yet he rebounds up several sergeants and others drawing blades as he rushes towards the one that had floored him.

Daemonic words spring from elena's lips and the sergeants with blades in their hands are struck to the floor by a flood of energy even as the sorceress strides down from behind the kinslayer, terrible and beautiful, her voice reverberates with the pure force of command, 

"karkarin draw blade" 

This is a command you are only too ready to obey even as elena stands before you staff raised in hand, the elements whipping at her robes, your blades slide from sheathes

"Karkarin form the hag queens malice"

It is almost seamless some of you stepping to the right some forth some backward though you do not know eachother you are warriors of the karkarin and you have been trained to martial perfection, 50 by 4 ranks stand blades glistening and shields held together, those of you untrained or have not made war among the karkarin such as *laneran* lets just say your lucky enough to be in the front row anyway and perhaps due to your time amidst the karkarin you have seen enough to know a rough detail of their command, after all knowledge is power. Either way through these moves you found yourself caught up, the others seeming to mesh seamlessly around you

"These are warriors kinslayer, treat them thus or khaine will gain his first souls upon your very ship. I promise you that."

All eyes fall upon the Kinslayer, who still does not deign to speak, merely giving a glare followed by a nod before striding away back to his cabin, Elena striding in his wake, a single shout of "Karkarin to attention" causing a united snap of blades slammed into sheeths. The picking continues without incident, though now Nagar's decisions are not snap decisions and he too strides amongst you his eyes glaring deep into yours.* He picks you in the order below*

*Mynerith* he walks towards you, not seeming to see the others that surround you his eyes running over your armour with an expert gaze yet he seems to walk slightly past you yet a fist snaps out to grab at your throat, its the cornor of your vision, yet your reflexes and agility allow you to evade it and counter it, how you do so is your choice but your counter stroke will be caught with equal speed. He nods to you and summons you to stand alongside his group of kinslayers with the faintest smile.

*Meraxes* he walks past you without interest until suddenly he seems to catch second sight of your armour and the sage eyes light on it with curiosity
"The firstborn of house syrax?" his mind seems to wonder away "I saw that armour before I joined the kinslayers crew, as a corsair. Either you are the son, or he is dead, either way I would beware allowing more amibtious souls than I view of that armour, their is a bounty for the soul encased in that armour in Naggaroth." A nod of his head and you too join his merry band, yet are his words any news to you, how do you feel being judged on your amour and not your merit?

*Laneran* he makes a beeline for you without stopping pushing others aside till he stand directly before you perhaps and inch shorter and several inches less broad "Big bastard entcha?" his voice is suddenly confrontational harsh almost like the mocking jeers of his fellows, which catches you off guard considering he was so polite and unassuming beforehand. "What happen your mother get fucked by a brettoni, it would explain the hideous features and the stench of failure that...." being fair i dont know how far he'd get before you'd go for him you can go further if you like either way you go for him, however you do, thats fine with me, however even if you end up with knives to his throat, you will find that he too has a knife ready to pop into your jugular,"

Either way your gaze meets his and you see it is suddenly calm his eyes once again full of sage wisdom 

"I've met too many big bastards with not enough between the ears or the legs to risk having one in my command."

You hear muffled guffaw from the ancient that once stood on his right a towering brute with arms as thick as yours and an extra inch or two in height.

He nods towards the group and your sent on your merry way even as he follows you hissing to the giant next to him

"I was talking about you by the way"

"Don't care I've kicked your ass so many times, you've started talking out of it"

"Tommorow?"

"Na, end of the week lets see what we've picked first."

"5 days then. Stakes?

"Sentry duty from now until we return from the bloodied palace"

"If you live that long."

(OOC, midge you dont need to include that in your post its alot to respond too but its worth everyone reading simply as it explains what will be going on on the 5th day)

*Razyel*80 people have gone before you and you still havent been picked, that's gotta sting considering your reknown and name, i guess looks can be deceiving, every sergeant has taken a look and gone on elsewhere, i guess executioner training doesn't show on the outside, just as you dont let the dissapointment show, your face a rock. You've certainly got a lot to prove, yet your time has come. The ancient one with the shrewd eyes has stopped before you, his eyes looking at you with the slightest smile. "Are you made of stone?" he hisses "I've walked past you four times, first for the pleasure of watching the others not know a trainee of Hag Graef when they see one. Second to see how much of a stone you really are. Your with me." 

*Noctavigent*: last to be picked every sergeant has stopped before you, yet as they look into your eyes something sends them on their way, how you react to that i don't know, but either way their are only 40 odd left and the resounding place of last is becoming a deep weight on everyones mind. The ancient stops before you his mind looking at you with what seems to be almost sorrow. "Your eyes portray death itself young one, which either means you are death on the battlefied or death off it, whether i will rue or praise these words only khaine will tell. Your with me little one"
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A last joins after you bringing you to 10 (OOC: who can be ignored he will be an NPC). The days that follow pass without incident, Nagar trains you ruthlessly hard only the warriors of the giant ancient matching the time you spend under the sun on the deck sweating and training. The training is similar to what is done by the Karkarin yet their are differences born from a seaborn race, your unit taught to be swift and silent, more stress placed upon one and two rank formations than multiple rank simply for defence against borders and quick and fluid raids.

Yet day after day under the hot sun makes a difference and each of you can feel his muscles already starting to swell ever so slightly from the physical exertion being placed under them. Those of you confounded by the sheer difficulty of this training suddenly find out why.

The news of the bet created between the two ancient sergeants has spread throughout the ship like wildfire, bets and rabid gambling flooding the ship, the attention it gains you, either flattering or irritating yet you realise that this is no laughing matter, that these sort of competitions is a tremendous part of kinslayer culture, that their is little to do onboard these ships and thus any diversion that can be used to subvert the boredom is maximised to the full, with the kinslayer himself agreeing to judge the competitions. The full boat turning its attention to the 10 fights that will take place on the main deck, the losing group forced into sentry duty until you return to the bloodied palace.

On the 4th day the competition was drawn fight for fight, who would fight who and with what, the choices between barehanded, wooden swords but no armour (a strange tradition you may not be familiar with but due to the kinslayers limited forces it reduces the chance of injury), full armour... first blood with the agreement that the sergeants would fight eachother barehanded, much to Nagar's dissapointment.

The 5th day and you sit below on the first floor on the great wooden platform used to lower things from floor to floor, you know who your opponent is and your are armored in the appropriate way. You sit opposite them staring into eachothers eyes, above you you can hear hundreds nay thousands of elves shouting screaming baying for blood. The steady thump of fists on wood, even the shrill scream of wyches, that have moved over from the other ship to witness the spectacle.

At the far end of the platform ,Nagar and the great giant, both bare chested and glistening, clasp forearms as brothers, twisted insults slapping across their tongues

Then you hear above the noise for the very first time a voice, a voice so definitely the kinslayers, rippling with power and energy, a tremendous snarl, like a dragons roar, the crowd silencing as he speaks

"Bring up our warriors"

You move upwards with a lurch and you move to stand face to face...

(okey dokey, of the 3 barehanded, wooden swords but unarmoured and full armour, I'm allowing you to choose your duel, and also your opponent, i want you to describe him in full detail and as you stand their face to face what happens do you trade insults or just stare into his eyes, you can give him a name if you want, just remember you create a 10 foot ogre your going to be battling a 10 foot ogre and i will be controlling the duel, so if he's a two foot midget that little midget will have some moves. Your excellent rp'ers all of you with excellent charactors so I'm giving you the license to have a bit of creativity with how you fight and who you fight.)

Any questions pm me, Welcome to Thirst for Vengeance. Have fun


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Mynerith’s eyes had widened perceptibly when she first caught sight of the _Prince’s Bane _. It was a huge ship, of a size she had only thought the Black Arks, preserved by sorcery, could attain. The _Princes Bane_ though was no Black Ark. Rather it was a monstrous galleon, oars riding low in the water, sails billowing, with a curved, sleek shape, swept forward and tapering. It was a vessel built for speed and long voyages, with spacious cargo holds. It was a raider’s ship. 

And what a raider. The Kinslayer was a legend in his own lifetime, a figure of dark mystery and malicious rumour. His house had built their name on numberless depredations against their Ulthuan cousins. Near permanently at sea, the House had no lands left and seemed more a part of the cruel ocean than Narggarothean society. Cerak himself seemed to fit the rumours, Mynerith judged appreciatively. The elf was huge, arms and chest thick with muscle though with handsome, arresting features, he seemed like some other breed of elf. It was his eyes that truly captured her attention though. Like emeralds they were a brilliant green and just as hard. If any being could emanate hatred itself, then Cerak Kinslayer was that being. Meeting his eyes sent a shudder down her spine. He was Mynerith decided, thoughts straying from the mission at hand, thoroughly exciting. 

She had embarked onto the vessel with care, aware of its rich history and bloodthirsty aspect. As she felt the deck roll beneath her feet and the soft sea braze pull at her hair something called to her, as it called to every Druchii. She could see herself commanding such a vessel, scouring the coasts of the lesser races, her hold full of slaves and plunder. It would be a good life, simple and rewarding. Such a fate was not meant for her, first daughter of House Nargonty’r however and she pushed such idle thoughts aside, flights of fancy, they would serve her no purpose. 

On that first day they had been appraised and weighed, like cattle or common slaves and then assigned to units. Mynerith had silently fumed during the process; she was a noble born warrior of House Nargont’yr, not some base soldier. She hid her true feelings however, as she was trained, presenting a stoic face to the Sergeants. Vengeance could come later, for now she had to honour her line and herself by being chosen early. She passed the time by selectively clenching the muscles in her legs; still not entirely used to the constant movement of the ship, she had to constantly make slight corrections to her posture to stay ramrod straight. 

Her wish was soon fulfilled as one grizzled sergeant stalked down the line of warriors. The older elf had many centuries on his frame, his lined eyes the only indication of such age. Slender, the male moved with an easy warrior’s grace, an elf at ease and at home. He stepped past her and Mynerith said a silent curse. Then from the corner of her eye came a dark blur, the elf’s fist aimed at her jugular! Bringing her left arm up she deflected his strike with her forearm, twisting as she did so to launch her own attack with her right arm. Hand vertical she made to launch a palm strike, aiming to break this elder’s nose to splinters. She found her own strike deflected too, the male elf moving with startling speed. They stood together, arms locked, face to face and he smiled, whispering, “Good”. Disengaging himself, the Sergeant stepped back, with a ghost of a smile gesturing for Mynerith to stand by his chosen warriors. Bowing her head slightly to the venerable elf, with a slight smile of her own she sauntered over to the group of Kinslayer corsairs, their greedy eyes following her every movement. Rolling her eyes she sharply kneed in the groin the first one who moved to touch her, his comrades roaring with laughter and welcoming her in. 

***​
Five days of training left Mynerith pleasantly tired. She felt vitalised and deadly. It was refreshing to get out of the palace, away from the intrigue, the lessons, the statecraft. On board the _Prince’s Bane_ she could live in the moment and focus on the here and know. Revel in the sea spray and the cool breeze. Feel the grain of the deck beneath her feet and hone her body as she had honed her mind with her mother. Her mind wandering as her body performed routines by rote Mynerith thought back on her mother’s lessons, comparing them to her efforts now. 

_ “Here, here and here, the vital points on an elf, a dagger to any one and their life will be Khaine’s.”_ Though she did not notice, her actions speed up, her blows furious.

_“Hemlock, man’sbane, slaught-wine, brykfrost, these poisons and more you must know. Learn them by smell, taste, texture sight and learn them well for your meals shall not be safe”._ Her body moved still, her mind in the past. 

_ “Look at his eyes run over you, he desires you as he should, use his lust, use him. Males are your tools. Now show me what you have learnt”. _ Shaking her head to dispel the intruding memories Mynerith stopped her activity, panting heavily. That night she slept a restless sleep. 

In an effort to alleviate boredom and distract herself she had found plenty of diversions and amusements. Her current method of amusing herself was to play off two freshly serving corsairs against each other. It was incredibly easy to manipulate the ship bound males. A smouldering look here, a lingering touch or flash of skin there and she had her victims wrapped around her finger. Each young elf had already pledged their love and brought her trinkets in the hope of laying with her. Mynerith had rebuffed all their advances, content to toy with them and try to provoke some confrontation. Besides being amusing it was good practice. Seduction and diplomacy could accomplish much that swords could not. 

***​
Now however was the time for more visceral skills. She was below the first deck, sitting on an expansive platform awaiting her turn to duel. Word of the challenge between the two senior Sergeants had got out and the whole ship had turned out to watch the spectacle. Mynerith intended to give them one they would not soon forget. She was fighting bare handed and without armour, her current garb more suited to the cavorting brides of Khaine then an armoured knight. Small sections of mail and leather, designed more for the crowd’s titillation than any protective value, provided scant modesty but accented her lithe form. Her scanty garb left her swirling tattoos uncovered, black thorns set against alabaster skin. Her hair was today bound in a topknot, with a long trail of crimson reaching to her buttocks. 

Her opponent was by no means so easy on the eye. A hulking brute of an elf, his torso was covered in thick, ropey scars. Thick lips called out catcalls to her as he made several carnal gestures with his hands. While humans would perhaps consider him rugged to an elf it was like some elf had lain with an orc and this was the resulting spawn. Though he was larger and no doubt stronger than she, Mynerith was not unduly worried. She had seen him training with his bastard of a weapon, a huge two handed axe and saw that he relied on the press of battle for his target to have little room to evade his hewing blows. This however would be no crush of battle but an open arena. Mynerith was confident she could dance away from his blows while launching quick strikes of her own at his vital organs. Once he had tired and succumbed to her endless, endurance sapping blows it would be a simple matter to end it. Yes, she would give the Kinslayer not a fight but a show. 

“Bring them up” came a voice from above, muffled by the decking and baying of the crowd. 

Mynerith ran her tongue along her teeth as she stepped onto the platform and was raised into the sunlight. She swept her arms up and rotated about, soaking in the roars of the crowd. Exhortations of praise and encouragement, salacious, lecherous calls and threats came down equally, an auditory assault battering her ears. This was a long way from the stuffy spires of home and the young she-elf was determined to enjoy herself. Sketching a mock curtsey to the figure of the Kinslayer and the sorceress Elena she licked her lips once again, ready for the fight.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The horse whickered uneasily, shaking his head left and right, steam billowing from huge, flaring nostrils. It was huge, a purebred of jet-black and fiery red, with an attitude as dark as his rider’s heart; trained to bite, kick and head butt should it be involved in a clash. A malicious beast, with crude, crimson eyes, unnerving and restless. 

Meraxes, Scion of House Syrax, rode as though he had been born in the saddle, twisting through narrow streets, a cloak of luxurious, pale-pink silk dancing in the air behind him. The City, wallowing in sin, made Meraxes’ choler rise. He hated it, and everyone within, turning his mismatched eyes away from passerby’s; those who were undeserving of his beautiful gaze, of his mesmerizing words, of his effort and blade. 

Soon, the buildings recessed; giving way to wharfs, piers and brothels. The stench of the ocean, acrid and heavy, assailed Meraxes’ nostrils as he slowed the horse, swaggering past drunken hordes, fondling with whores, playing with blades, as though they were child things. When he neared the curve of the waterfront, he reigned his mount in, eyes dancing vividly over the forest of black masts. 

Gargantuan vessels, barbed and vicious; with arrow-headed prows and multistoried decks, rested on the quavering water, sloshing gently as they swayed, left and right, though they remained anchored, under the watchful eye of their crews. 

‘You,’ Meraxes spoke, in a venomous voice, calling to a drunken corsair, with wicked, penetrating eyes. ‘Where is the Kinslayer’s vessel?’

The man looked at him, leaning on a wall for support, as he sipped from a multihued wine flute. ‘What business is it of you, friend?’

‘I am employed in his service,’ He returned, licking lengthened incisors. ‘And that of venerated House Karkarin, I am an essential member of his crew.’ 

‘Then you would know his ship,’ The sailor said, smiling lopsidedly. ‘But alas, I must tell you where, lest I keep you waiting. There,’ He said, pointing to a monstrous vessel, anchored and taking on supplies, a line of Nauglir behind led along a boarding ramp. ‘Good hunting, boy, may we meet again.’

***

He dismounted his horse, running a gauntleted hand through his mane, whispering archaic words into the ear of the beast. Retainers, in heavy, fur-trimmed cloaks, took the reins of the beast, leading it into the decks. 

‘Take care,’ Meraxes said, with a mirthless grunt, calling to the Elf. ‘Or you will be lacking a head.’

Calmly, he clambered aboard a gangplank, eying the vast ship. It was impressive, no Black Ark, but certainly a monstrosity; made of the finest materials, the deck smooth and polished. Hundreds of Dark Elves, in various sets of burnished, reinforced plate, stood in orderly ranks. Some bore the heraldry of the Kinslayer, sitting languidly; violent, unhinged men, blades and halberds close. Others wore Karkarin colours, male and females that Meraxes recognised, picking out the odd face amongst the crowd. 

Hesitantly, Meraxes moved towards the crowd, each step graceful and calculated. Cutthroats and brigands, each and every one of them; he would keep an avid eye upon the Kinslayer’s blasphemous hordes. 

There was a loud, earsplitting creak. An ostentatious door towards the aft swung outwards, a pair of figures walking smoothly onto the deck. One was doubtlessly a male, tall and broad, with a rugged handsomeness about him, his hair raven-dark and falling to the small of his back. The other was a shade, a ghost; a forlorn hope, rising from an abyss, beautiful and heart wrenching. 

‘Ayita,’ He gasped, for an instant, at the sight of the sorceress. The sharp, exotic features; contorted into that mischievous smile, with a laugh that rivaled liquid gold. There, for an instant, he was clutching her close, taking delicate care in handling her; a statuesque maiden, with snow-white flesh and full, blood-red lips. ‘No, not Ayita. Never Ayita, - An apparition, Elena, still beautiful..’

Irritated, he raked his dragon-scale claws together; a hollow, musical noise arising from his talons as he did so. His eyes narrowed, staring at Elena, - As she danced gracefully across the deck, an expensive dress twirling about her smooth, alluring form. 

The pair shared a brief nod, Meraxes’ characteristic armour making him stand out amongst the crowd of hundreds. The two shared little in common, though; Elena, frankly, bored Meraxes. It was humorous, a comedic play of jests and counteraccusations, purely playful. 

Meraxes smiled, despite himself, showing his glistening teeth. 

Sergeants were going along the lines, choosing their units; some testing muscles, turning faces, stroking their skin. Others were silent, turning shrewd, intelligent eyes on the assembled Dark Elves. One, striding proudly, headed past Meraxes; though he came to a halt, turning nimbly, raising an eyebrow. 

‘The firstborn of House Syrax?’ He said, his voice trailing off. ‘I saw that armour before I joined the Kinslayer’s crew, as a corsair. Either you are the son, or he is dead, either way I would beware allowing more ambitious souls than I view of that armour, there is a bounty for the soul encased in that armour in Naggaroth.’ 

‘That I know, sire,’ He said, with a cruel smile, remembering the Chracian merchantman and the sodomising of his cousin. ‘I am no stranger to Ulthuan, nor are they to me. I, however, am worth more than my armour, I assure you.’

The Elf merely nodded, indicating the swelling group of Elves. Meraxes twisted his lips in a silent snarl, his eyes catching the sight of a redheaded female, walking with a dancer’s gait; lustful and capturing. 

****

For five miserable days they fought, trained and bantered. Meraxes made little contact with the others, watching; identifying their every weakness, where a deft flick of his blade would tear an artery, sever a limb, paralyze. 

He suspected that few of this rabble would hold up against him, more so if he had the support of House Syrax behind him; with all of her spears, blades and vessels. He was ashamed to be amongst their kind; he had dined with the rich and the beautiful, amongst Malekith’s finest of generals, dancing exhaustingly with the heirs of great houses; searching, nay, hunting, for potential marriage contracts.

And now, he was sparring with imbeciles and incompetents, - One, he believed, even slept with animals, - Whom he would entrust his life with, it was an unpleasant thought to say the least. 

More concerning was the duel. On the fourth day, Meraxes had stood at the allocated point, awaiting a challenger. A Dark Elf, wearing an all enclosing helm, formed into a shimmering death mask, had marched from the crowd, tapping Meraxes’ shield. It was obvious, - He was the one, the one who would bleed. 

****

The crank lifted upwards, through the yawning chasm, bathing the Elves in light. Meraxes was sweltering, clad in full plate, his faceplate opened, shadowing his face. 

He sighted his opponent, almost instantaneously, standing amongst the others. A half-cape of velvet and Nauglir scale dangled from his shoulders, rustling gently in the ocean wind. When he turned towards Meraxes, he inclined his head, breath bursting from the sculpted maw. 

Both advanced on one another, Meraxes unclasping his helm, his dragon-scale talons chiming. 

His opponent did the same; long, golden locks erupting forth, framing a face. A female face, carved from ice, with eyes the colour of chipped emerald; framed by sharp-cutting cheekbones. 

‘What?’ Meraxes hissed, beneath his breath, as his opponent’s face twisted into a dastardly grin. ‘A female!’

Warm laughter bubbled from between her lips. ‘I am,’ She said, tapping the hilt of her blade. ‘Or so I hope. You are a male, correct?’

‘This is ludicrous, an insult, I will not stand for this,’ Meraxes raged, jabbing a talon towards her beauteous face. ‘Nonsense, utter nonsense. I demand someone more capable.’ 

‘Scared, friend?’ She giggled, her voice an unwavering song, echoing across the deck. Eyes were turned on him now. ‘I am Saeran, of House Anaravil. You are Meraxes of House Syrax, - I know your armour, friend. My Mother was once a handmaiden of the Seastar, until her death.’ 

‘You know me? How?’ Meraxes enquired, anger lacing his words. 

‘Because, Meraxes, we suckled at the same teat, - But, alas, I come not to talk, but to disrobe and dishonour you, I’m afraid we met under unfortunate circumstances, though after I bruise and humiliate you, perhaps I can kiss it better?’ She giggled again, and Meraxes recognised something about it - The undertone of mischief, the glint in her eyes; it was like hearing Ayita, in a different body. 

‘Nay,’ He said, replacing his helm, his face becoming a ferocious rasp. He stepped forwards, inexorable, drawing his blade in a flash of sunlight. ‘You will lay neither hand nor blade upon me. If you still need comfort afterwards, I never wander far, - Come, seek me out, should you wish. Mayhaps I will leave your face, and give you something else to remember me; it would be such a dissapointment if I was to scar such a maiden.' 

She smiled, drawing her own blade, a slender, barbed thing. 'We shall see, Meraxes.'


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Acaman sat, relaxed among the corsairs. He was given a wide berth as all knew of his skill with the blade on his back and the twin daggers strapped to his waist. His face was covered by his Caedlin and his helmet hung from his belt of Nauglir skin. His repeater crossbow was strapped to his back and he wore his mail and Sea Dragon cloak. A black hood concealed the rest of his head so that when one looked all they saw was the daemonic silver visage that decorated the front of his Night mask. He rarely wore the mask for it was a relic of his old life as a noble of Hag Graef where all Highborn wore a mask come the rise of the fog. However he had chosen to wear it for that day, after which it would return to its usual place in his bag. He surveyed the warriors of the Kakarin gathered before him. There were almost 1000 of them; he estimated about 750 Druchii gathered to reclaim the lost honour of their house. Added to the Kinslayer’s force of 600 corsairs and there was a sizable force gathered there.

As Acaman’s eyes swept over the warriors gathered before him one in particular caught his eye. He was slightly below the average height for a Druchii but Acaman’s keen gaze picked out a strength that would seem unusual for his size, something that he himself possessed. However it was not this that unnerved Acaman. That honour belonged to his eyes. There was no life in those eyes. The seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it and were black as pitch. Those eyes showed cruelty beyond imagining and for a Dark Elf that was very impressive. To Acaman it seemed as if the warrior was the kind of Druchii that would set the world on fire just to watch it burn. He shivered slightly, although it was so slight that even had one been looking closely they would not have noticed.

He tore his gaze away and surveyed the rest of the warriors gathered before them. He was disturbed by the sight of the Kinslayer stalking from his cabin, the Kakarin sorceress gliding alongside him. Acaman noticed another Dark Elf of the Kakarin take a step forward at the sight of her but then restrain himself. Acaman wondered about that. Cerak nodded to his lieutenant who clapped his hands. The squad leaders of the Corsairs stood and gestured to one of the 11 corsairs still sitting in their groups. Acaman found the fingers pointing at him and he stood, rising from the floor almost like a cat, before striding forward. He reached his squad leader and the warrior said “you, stand amongst the Kakarin.” Acaman nodded silently and saw another Dark Elf begin to protest before biting it back. Acaman’s keen gaze swept over the assembled warriors and he noticed that most if not all of them were the strongest in their groups.

Several of the sergeants walked to the front to stand in a line before the mix of Karkarin and Kinslayer warriors as several of the preformed units are placed under the command of the Kinslayer’s honour guard, 10 warriors that included his only son, Igaroth, and each of them descended the ladders to bunk below. That left approximately 200 warriors facing 20 sergeants. The older warriors turned the whole thing into a game, striding forward and prodding warriors in the chest, checking their armour and weapons before deciding. This was often accompanied by insults to the warrior in question. Several of the Karkarin turned white faced with fury at the humiliation despite the fact that it was the corsairs being dragged out first

Acaman was one of the first to be taken out, although his leader took his job seriously, selecting the best he could find. It was Nagar Dankaroth, a warrior of just over 500 years who had once been a favourite of the Kinslayer before being removed to make space for Igaroth. Acaman offered a very slight bow to the warrior that only he noticed, a faint smile flickered at the corner of his mouth but vanished quickly. Acaman took his place in the group. He was one of the first to join it and so watched as the others arrived. Ellros the Forsworn and Aradil, both corsairs of the Kinslayer, came next but before it could continue a fight broke out with one of the Karkarin finally losing his temper. Before the fight could escalate the sorceress spoke with a voice like thunder. "Karkarin draw blade!" This was a command the Karkarin seemed eager to obey even as Elena stood before them with her staff raised in one hand, the elements whipping at her robes, There was a shrieking sound as the blades were drawn. "Karkarin form the hag queens malice."

The Karkarin steeped seamlessly into formation with their blades drawn and held before them. Acaman’s hand rose to the level of his sword’s hilt and some of the corsairs around him visibly flinched. The tension stretched for what seemed like an age before Elena spoke again. "These are warriors Kinslayer, treat them thus or Khaine will gain his first souls upon your very ship. I promise you that." All eyes were upon the Kinslayer after those words had been spoken and Acaman tensed, ready to spring into action but the Kinslayer merely nodded and the sergeants resumed their pacing without the insults.

Nagar chose 5 more warriors and then paused. There was a female, a Druchii wearing an exquisite suit of plate armour and a warrior built like a tank with muscles thicker than Acaman’s chest. There was also the Dark Elf Acaman had noticed start at the appearance of the sorceress and the blank eyed Druchii who had unnerved him earlier. Acaman studied them all but subtly directed his gaze everywhere apart from the final Druchii’s eyes. When the final member arrived they were dismissed and taken to their new quarters on the ship.
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It was the fourth day of training; the previous 3 spent doing brutal training regimes, Nagar pushing them hard with only the old giant he had spoken to earlier matching their training hours. The reason for this intensive training was soon evident as the mess halls filled with gossip about the competition to be held. Acaman was not surprised; after all it was a huge part of the culture aboard the Kinslayer’s ships. Bored groups could fight against others with Cerak himself judging the winners. The organisation was drawn. Acaman was fighting in full armour with naked steel, the winner being the first to draw blood. There was something vaguely familiar about his opponent, something about her armour that he thought he recognized. He dismissed it as unimportant and continued checking over his equipment. His sword was razor sharp, as were the twin daggers. His crossbow’s reload mechanism was working and the accuracy was 100% the standard efficiency level. His chain mail was polished so that it gleamed and his dragon scale cloak was clean. Normally he would not have bothered with such things. The reason for this polish was not only the upcoming tournament, but also because he hadn’t cared for them for months and felt the new arrivals needed a show of strength. The tournament was on the next day and Acaman waited patiently for the fights to begin.
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His opponent wielded a long sword and had a shield strapped to one arm. Acaman elected to forgo the additional protection of a shield, fighting with his sword and daggers. He had removed any traces of poison from there blades and now he waited for his turn. He could hear the baying of the crowd; screaming for blood and he smiled silently, he intended to give them a show they wouldn’t forget. A voice silenced the screams as the Kinslayer spoke, his voice radiating power without any effort on his behalf. “Bring up our warriors,” came the command and the gate winched open. Myrenith, the female, went through first with her opponent. Her arrival was heralded by raucous cheers and lecherous shouts. She was barely armoured, wearing clothes more suited to a witch elf than a corsair. She was followed by Meraxes and his opponent, another female Druchii who mocked him freely. Acaman’s eyebrows rose. In the short space of time he had known the noble he had learnt that to mock him was to invite your own doom yet this woman did it carelessly.

Acaman Sythril left the cramped room, his opponent travelling close behind him. He cared not for the shouts of the crowd, merely turning to the Kinslayer and giving him a nod before his gaze settled on his opponent. He could see every detail of her armour and every twitch of her muscles. He found himself looking at her face. She was breathtakingly beautiful but a snarl ruined the otherwise stunning display. Then his memories clicked into place and he realised who she was. “Merilwen,” he said quietly. She snarled a response. “Acaman,” the words were positively dripping with poison. “My brother tired of you,” he said with a fake smile. Her snarl increased. She had been his elder brother’s lover and the only one who felt sorrow over his death. That she still felt it was incredible. “You killed him,” she hissed angrily. Acaman shrugged carelessly. He cared not and the bored tone to his words proved it. “I did not kill him, I merely did not stop the dagger’s fall.”

Her anger only increased for she did not realise that he was merely baiting her, waiting for her to make a mistake. “You know,” he said casually “I may keep you around, the long months at sea can be quite boring at times.” A look of horror replaced the anger before her eyes filled with hate. He smiled quietly and raised his sword. Typical female, one insult to their honour and they’d try to tear you limb from limb. Not that she would get the chance…


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Aradril walked out of Chaitanya's pleasure house and swayed drunkenly for a moment before righting himself and heading for the pier where the Prince's Bane was docked to board for the night. Passing by most of the people along the pier Aradril makes good time and is aboard the ship and in his bunk sleeping in less than a half hour. Waking up to the sounds of armoured feet moving along the ship decks Aradril gets up and moves to the sailing deck and slumps along the railing looking over the crowd of warriors with a smile on his lips matching the one in his eyes. 

Noticing one of the warriors with a fur wrapped around his shoulders and the set of armour underneath it, Aradril notices, is a shimmering red-gold of dragon scales. Looking at the man's face Aradril is startled to see two different coloured eyes, one a vivid blue almost the colour of the sky and the other a haunting pink. *That is one to watch out for. Make a wrong move around him and like as not there will be a dagger through your heart. Might be useful to be on that one's good side. Might even be a way to being Captain again.* Aradril thinks to himself as the Kinslayer strides from his quarters with the Karkarin woman Elena respectfully behind him.

Aradril is still shocked that he still draws breath after fighting the Kinslayer as he strides down the deck he exudes the aura of cold, bitter hatred every step and movement checked only by the bounds of flesh he is in cased in. Cerak nods to a Lieutenant who claps his hands signaling squad leaders to rise and points towards Aradril and those surrounding him and saying to join the Karkarin. He is dismayed at being selected for whatever punishment is waiting for him as he and the rest move amongst the Karkarin. 

He is relieved to see that it is not a punishment but they are being selected to form units. Though the process is more like a team selection than anything else as the Sergeants come up and stare into the eyes of warriors and poke t some of the equipment and armour of the Karkarin. Standing there with the mixed units Aradril is picked third by Nagar Dankaroth. Watching him make his selections is enjoyable to Aradril as others are being selected they look as though they are looking at horses and he knows Nagar won't throw them away uselessly. Though it seemed to much for one warrior as he lashed out with a headbutt to a Sergeant that brought him crashing to the deck. Rebounding from the hit and drawing his sword as other sergeants draw theirs and advanced upon the lone warrior. Before he could get close to the one who floored him demonic words spring into the air slamming him and the Sergeants wo had drawn blades onto the deck. At a command from Elena teh Karkarin draw thier blades then at another form into ranks ready for attack or defense.

*"These are warriors kinslayer, treat them thus or khaine will gain his first souls upon your very ship. I promise you that."* Aradril's eyes go the Kinslayer as he glares at her before simply nodding then leaves the deck. As before Nagar picks quickly but he stares into the others eyes before deciding on who to pick. As the last were picked Aradril looks over them quietly looking for any others that might concivably slam a dagger through his heart.

As they had left the port the first day of training commenced under the sun and wacthfull vision of Nagar. Aradril used to the movements and commands but not the entensity with which Nagar is drilling them. As the few days pass Aradril noticed that he was building more muscle than he previuosly had. As he suspected the wager between Nagar and the giant had spread across the ship and was used as a distraction from mindless duty and endless drilling. As bets and wagers spread across the ship aradril wishes it would just go away as it is nothing but a distraction from training. On the fourth day he was selected to fight barhanded by a similar height elf but who seemed to have a longer reach than himself. 

As the fith day daned Aradril dressed in loose fitting trousers and no shirt opting to go barefoot instead of wearing any type of shoes. Sitting on the elevator Aradril stares intently at his opponet watching for any sign of weaknes or tendecy that might help in the coming fight. Ignoring the racous noise from the enitre ship screaming for blood. braying for violence. A voice rings out that silencese them all, as if it had come from the mouth of a dragon, *"Bring up our warriors"*.

Looking over his opponet Aradril remains silent as he studies him. Long arms, of a height with himself the man seems a little shaky on the sea still though that could be an act,he is constantly talking about what he would do to Aradril each time getting more descriptive as if silence unnerved him. Aradril notices that he wears leather boots and trousers with a small leather vest on his torso. Aradril looks into the man's green eyes and simply smiles intending to unnerve hi more.


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

OOC: Doing this slightly differently to the rest of you.

Razyel stood there armoured in obsidian and cloaked in deep purple, the crimson scarf wrapped around the lower portion of his face concealed a good portion of his features from all others on the ship but most importantly Elena for if she realized he was here then 'that woman' would soon know he hasn't on the Bloodied Palace. Infront of him stood a druchii who would best be described as: brutish, poor-mannered and very aggressive judging by his hands covered in fresh blood of an unfortunate slave who had accidently bumped into him when the ship rocked to the side because of an oncoming wave. The large elf, like himself, was fully armed and armoured as Razyel and his opponent had decided that the match would be to first blood and though to others it may seem like a new recruit would standard no chance against a Corsair who looked to be around twice his age they clearly didn't realize who and what Razyel was, one of the favoured of Khaine.

The floor beneith his feet juddered slightly as the chains started to haul the flooring he and his opponent were standing on up towards the top deck where their fight would be overseen by the Kinslayer and Elena. As his thoughts drifted back to his sister he recalled how she was allowed all the freedom she wanted to go on this trip for revenege while he was meant to stay back on the Bloodied Palace until house Karkarin was back at full strength or near enough, while he was raised closer to the light Razyel shut his eyes and recalled the last few days starting with his conversation with his mother.

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Razyel stood in the center of his mothers throne room staring up at her lithe and very exposed form as she sat on her throne which once belonged to his father, The Hag Queen of the Bloodied Palace was an imposing presence which demanded respect but Razyel had grown used to the Hag Queen's presence and thanks to his own training and reputation he could be as informal as he liked and push Carielle as much as he dared before changing the subject but the subject at hand was to do with the most recent of events that Razyel bothered to pay attention to as he had been away for the last eight months with his raiding fleet.

Standing tall and straight with his shoulders back Razyel seeking explinations from his mother. "You know this wouldn't of happened if you had sent me along mother, If I had been there then I would of been able to protect my sister and even had I fallen she would of had time to oblitirate the one who struck me down." His mother replied her voice filled with command but in this case there was the slight hint of her maternal side which he had not heard for over eighty years within it, it was almost mocking to his ears. "Learned you be in the arts of khaine of blade and blood, little one yet you believe you could have stood against de Vala and lived. You have the skills beyond your years but the maturity of a boy after his first lesson with the blade, he thinks he is invincible beyond compromise, That is why i did not send you then and why i will not send you now."

Razyel's reply was quick and while his features didn't show it inside he was slightly annoyed and insulted at being called a childen as he was now ninety years old but then again he remembered that the druichii can live for hundreds if not thousands of years, had not the Dark Sorceress Morathi and the Witch-King himself been around since the time of Aenerion(sp?). "But in those seconds that I wouldof fought with him before he would eventually cut me down would give Aiyta the time to blast him into Khaine's embrace"

His mothers reply was even quicker than his previous one was and Razyel tilted his head to the side slightly as his casual chat with his mother now appeared to become something of a debate. "dead daughter, dead son, it makes no difference in khaine's eyes, yet to leave the armies of the karkarin in the hands of Yshi'ran, would mean everything in the eyes of our enemies." Razyel's head returned to its normal upright position as he glanced around the room and saw no trace of his elder sibling and returned his green gaze to the woman seated upon the throne. ""I see...So you wish to parade me around like a guard dog to ward of would be assassains when the Lord of Murder demands me to travel across the sea's and send these humans into his realm for all eternity?"

Carielle rose up like a snake uncoiling and stormed to the edge of the dias upon which her throne sat "You dare tell me what the lord of murder desires?". Razyel's back would visably stiffen but he takes a step forward towards his mother with all the confidence he has. "One of us is a bride of Khaine, The other one of his children. There are certain things that a man will not tell his lover but he will tell his child and vice versa mother." Razyel's face would remain impassive as he stared into the Hag Queens eyes with his deep green eyes.

As Razyel stared into the eyes of his mother he saw something in the back of her mind snap as she changes tactics. ""then what of this house, do you care naught for the home we have built upon this ark, aye it was your grandfather who seized it yet who held it. Me little one, me. Not your grandfather nay he layed seige to the borders of his empire his sons at his side leaving me to fight the fires and bolts of assassins. Would you let this ark slip from our fingers to roam the world. Is your pride so high, do you care nothing for the name you bear."

On the rare occasion that Razyel's impassive face shows emotion his lip twitches into a partial sneer. "I am the youngest of five, I have had to claw my way to where I am now as you know mother. Everything I have I got for myself and both of us know I will never inherit anything from your death, It will go to the others as everything always has. Even if my name soon was to mean nothing I intend on burning my name into the pages of history" At this he saw his others eyes show signs of hurt as she wished she never had to say what she wanted to. "The youngest of 4 now." 

Then Razyel saw her gaze stare off into the distance as if she was looking at something not there before returning her attention back onto him. "And you have clawed alone, unaided? Whose influence gained you a place amongst the executioners to learn amongst the deadliest, who clad you in the best armour our coffers could afford, who sent you away from your fathers rage, bedded the assassin he sent after you and smothered him as he slept." She spat at his feet "but of course you have risen alone, so take another name cold-one, Razyel cold-one disguard this worthless house. Yet if you come back here, come with blade in your hand and murder in your heart for I will meet you." A single stride and her fists shoot out to slide into ornate gauntlets of spikes and shards twin blades unsheating as her robe slips away to reveal the hag queen in warriors clad, "and I will defend house karkarin with blood as i always have."

Razyel marched towards his mother and straight up the stairs to her throne before he stands at eye level with her. "That is the spirit Mother, keep the anger of Khaine burning in your heart and you will be able to defend the Ark from the gods of the chaos followers themselves should the need arise." A faint hint of a smile would touch Razyel's lips but before he could say another word one of her fists lashed out and punched him off of his feet and down the stairs as he rolled over each of them and part way across the hall before finally he came to a stop. Shaking his head to get his bearings Razyel sat his mother walk down the stairs towards him and offer a hand to help him up.

"Why do you want to go little one? your raids upon the shores khemri have lost you much in men but gained you much in renown. Why does the idea of defending the ark displease you so?" She would leer a little. "Does my company displease you so?" Razyel was quick to answer his mother. "This place itself displeases more than anything knowing that 'he' ruled this place before his death. I would rather be off fighting and dying on some unknown battlefield than remain here to defend it while the rest of the family go to war. I was raised to shed blood in the name of Khaine and that is what I shall do." Razyel pushes himself up without taking Carielle's hand and dusts off his armour. "You know that it is one of my goals to rule my own ark and not this one where all my memories are filled with pain and anger."

"Then raid the coasts, yet linger a while, you need time to muster you forces. We both know why you go after de Vala, its is arrogance and pride, you wish to prove yourself your brothers superior and that is why you will not go.Your arrogance will cost you your life".

"If it will then so be it as should I fall in battle then I shall enter Khaine's realm, is that not what we all wish as his chosen to spill blood in his name and then be at his side for an eternity in death?" Razyel took a step away from his mother then turned to make his way out. "I will go on this raid if I so choose Mother and you know that the only way to stop me is to kill me or dis-inherit me so what will it be?"

"The worst part is neither would affect you, you would leave and never come back without a moments pause" the gauntlets and knives clatter to the floor which made Razyel think his mother had given up but something in the back of his mind told him otherwise. Razyel stopped in his tracks and his right hand idly slides to his sword hilt as he turns his head to look back at his mother to see what it is she is doing. "You are correct in that though I doubt I could get off this Ark alive if i was disowned."

"You would not leave this room alive little one. you have not seen me at war but khaine runs rivers through my soul. Do not make me kill you little one." Razyel turned so that he was half facing the Hag Queen of the Bloodied Palace and his impassive face showed no emotion. "Do you really intend to keep me here while Elena goes off to gain revenege? Why do you not take the ark yourself with what ever mercenaries you can find? Why must I remain here to defend it when you did so without my aid for all those years I was never here."

"Elena goes to gain the blood khaine desires, she goes to save your brother, vengeance is merely a bonus. Do you see now why i do not want you to go?" Razyel was slightly taken back by this not because he cared but through the sheer idiocy that his mother thought he cared about Salza. "Do you honestly think I care whether Salza lives or dies? Do you really think I would of shed a tear if he ended up a mangled corpse in some foreign land? Do you think I would care if even Elena or you were killed? You know all the answer to these questions. So no i do not see the reason why I am to stay."

"Then kill me now, i stand unarmed, end my existence, take house karkarin for your own." Razyel would whip around so his back faces his mother as he stares at the door. "Breaking tools that still have some use is a very foolish idea, so why would I do that Mother? I also know you could kill me with your bare fists even if I did use my sword. The fight would be one sided I know when I am out-classed. But this De Vela human does not outclass me."

Carielle would laugh "He outclassed your brother. What makes you so special?" Once again Razyel felt like his mother was mocking him. "Salza was not trained in the arts of death in the way that I was. He was not trained by the executioners of Hag Graef. He merely had the basic training of what ever tutor you decided to give him while I have been taught by the second best warriors in all of lands of chill, the first being the Black Guard of his Royal Highness, May Khaine watch over him until the end of time. Do you think if Salza had been trained as I had he would of survived?"

"And you believe that makes up for campaign after campaign, foe after foe, practice to experience?". "You seem to forget that I have been on many raids and fought many enemies aswell mother. From the Humans of Cathy to the Walking Dead of Khemri and I have bested them all. Are these humans any different from the ones I have fought before? They have foot soliders, they have calvalry, the have siege weapons and even those who can wield the winds of magic. In the end they are all the same."

"Then make war somewhere else, if they are all the same, why do you not wait, rebuild, give me time to reassure our position amongst the houses, then set sail for the lands of the empire of the isles of ulthuan or even the chaos wastes. Why must you leave now?". "Because it is my choice, Cariella." Razyel uses his mothers name to show he is fully serious. "If I decide to leave then you know you can't stop me but if I decide to stay then that is my choice once again but at some point or another I will set sail for Bretonnia and take the heads of the De Vela's be it with my own forces or in the midst of another lord." Razyel then strides towards the door.

"You dont need to stay willingly, but i need you to stay, your reputation will be enough to give me the time to recover, after that I will release you to roam the seas unfettered by our house. I ask you for the last time, will you stay willingly, or will i have to show you why i rule this house. Why brides of khaine cross the ocean to listen to my words" and with that the three wyches stood in the hall moved to bare his path from where he was and the door, with twitch of his lip in annoyance Razyel rounded to face Careille and clicked his fingers the doors behind the wychs opening as five of his cold one knights stride in weapons bared. "Do I need to show you why my troops both fear and respect me mother?"

Before he could say anything else the wyches behind him screamed praises Khaine before they fell upon his cold one knights and started their bloody work, now Razyel was clearly annoyed but as always he never showed his emotions and pivoting on one foot he effortlessly drew his sword and with but a single swing severed the heads of the three wyches but he was too late in that his knights had already been torn to pieces, clearly the brides of Khaine were very quick about their work, as Razyel continued to pivot he brought his blade around to Carielle but she simply moved forward and raised her hands catching the blade inbetween her gauntleted palms and pulls it from Razyel's grasp.

Razyel stood there in partial disbelief as his mother then strode away with the blade that was specifically forged for him, something he had carried with him for over fiftey years. Turning on the spot and muttering several curses to Khaine he strode from the room and down into the Black Ark in search of his troops and another sword.

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It has been twenty four hours since his mother had taken his sword and since then Razyel has felt like a part of him had been missing but like all those trained at Hag Graef you could use any weapon you could get your hands on. He stood in the ranks with the other warriors of House Karkarin as the sergeants picked out warriors to join their squads, 80 had been picked before him which inside made Razyel feel as if his training ment nothing until one of the older Sergeants stood infront of him and smiled. "Are you made of stone?" he hisses "I've walked past you four times, first for the pleasure of watching the others not know a trainee of Hag Graef when they see one. Second to see how much of a stone you really are. Your with me." To this Razyel stepped forward and to the side of the old sergeant and said but a single sentence before going to join the squad. "This 'trainee' of Hag Graef could sever your head and pierce your heart before you could even blink old-one."

For the next four days the sergent had trained them relentlessly which to Razyel's surprise was slightly more difficult that he imagined, it wasn't the fact it was purely physically which was how those of Hag Graef trained but it was for the sheer amount of time spent each day training as it was different from his training amoungst the executioners. In those four days though he felt his muscle grow slightly but not much as they were already large enough for him to wield a Draichii with ease, and in those four days he had barely said a word to any of his fellow warriors in the squad which Razyel assumed was down to his coldness and unnerving eyes. Should any try to make a coversation with him though then he would try to learn what he needed to know about them so he could use it later on.

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Finally Razyel opened his eyes as the lift juddered to a halt and he was standing on the top gate, opening his eyes the first person they fell upon was Elena sat by the Kinslayer which unsettled him as if Elena figured out who he was then this trip would of been for nothing, but more important matters were at hand as he turned his attention back to his opponent. Moving several strides away from the large brute Razyel drew his sword and held his shield in the other arm not wanting to give away his executioner training just yet as it would be one of the aces up his sleeve.


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Two months in this place was far more than Laneran could bear. He was used to his nephew, Marek T'Calt, Lord of House Sceadu sending him on missions and duties of great importance, but these diplomatic delegations were by far his least favorite task. He much preferred the brutality of warfare or even the dirty intrigue of assassination and deception of covert observation to the endless prattle of trade negotiations, land rights, resource exchange, and pledges of military assistance. The desk in front of hims stacked with papers and documents, though plentiful, highly ordered and sorted. If he assigned a task he did it with the same stoic discipline he always did, whether that be a silent knife in someones back in a dark alley, or a lengthy negotiation in the farce that was diplomacy between the great houses of the Druchii. 

Despite his feelings on the nature of his business on the Bloodied Palace, Laneran had become used to the anmenities provided to him as a visiting dignitary from an important house. His rooms were ostentatious and comfortable, and his every request, be it food, drink, or entertainment of every sort and variety was met with a smiling nod by the servants and slaves of House Karkarin. Staring out of his stateroom window in the upper tiers of the Black Ark, his steady gaze, stormy grey like the sea below him, taking in the magisty of the water with a pang of longing. He had too long been landbound. He longed for the steady sway of the deck beneath his feet, the spray of salted mist in on his face. Fortunately, the current situation would sate those longings. 

Returning to the expensive, aged desk that had been his home for the last two months, he once again sat himself in the aged chair, his massive shoulders creaking, stiff from lack of excercise. He had continued his training in the art of the blade, studying with the masters of the Karkarin, but between his duties as Ambassador and the constant meetings with Carielle and other nobles of her house, he felt stagnant. Always sitting and talking, and then writing into the wee hours of the morning. Rifling through the stacks of reports and treatises he began to file them away into seperate messenger folios and scroll tubes, each containing reports of his progress and terms and conditions that had been agreed upon. When full each received a wax seal, his crest embedded into the wax and as the large stack of papers slowly disappeared he felt the weight of responsibility leave his shoulders. 

He was writing a final letter as Tareel, his first mate arrived, this one detailing the nature of the situation with Salza and he decision to embark upon the journey to capture and execute his attacker, to Marek. He told his nephew that should he be the one to take the head of this De Vala, House Sceadu's position with Karkarin would be very good indeed. His influence secured, and the opening for Sceadu to take the houses wealth and influence for their own established. Laneran knew that Marek would be irritated that Laneran had made this decision without consulting him, but Laneran believed that the hull full of riches and slaves, gained in trade and deceit, would sate his nephew's ire. Slow and methodical was the T'Calt way and Marek would see the value in this expedition. 

"Tareel," his cold gaze taking in the lithe elf that stood before him. He dusted the ink of the letter, sealed it and handed the bound tube and stack of folios to the man, "Take all of these home. Report to Marek what has occured and give him my letter. The helm of the Hawk is yours until my return. Fair seas and good hunting." 

As Tareel left, Laneran's gaze once again returned to the window, the massive bulk of the Kinslayer's vessel, his next assignment, clearly visible in the harbor. A smile ghosting around his lips, Laneran felt the call of the sea once more. 

***​
Fully armed and adorned for war, Laneran rode his Nauglir, a viciously stubborn beast, much like its master, down through the city to the docks. As he passed he took in the definite shift of attitude and atmosphere that hung about the lower city. After so many weeks around the subtle intrigue of Carielle's court, looking for daggers in the shadows and poison in his glass, it was almost refreshing to be among like minds once more. He watched as thieves cut purses, whores displayed their wares next to shady merchants who claimed to sell goods from Araby and Cathy to Kieslev and Brettoni, Khemri to Ulthuan. 

Soon the gigantic form of the Kinslayer's vessel loomed overhim and a sailor in his livery came to meet Laneran and take his mount. As he dismounted and the sailor came forward, the cold one hissed and snapped in the elf's direction. Laneran hauled off and punched the beast in the side of the head with a gauntleted fist. The nauglir turned its reptilian gaze on Laneran, its eye slightly unfocused from the blow, but remained silent and compliant. "A strong hand is needed with this one," he said the sailor. "He is stubborn as the tide." WIthout a backwards glance he mounted the gang-plank and made his way up to the main deck, several tiers above him. 

As he reached the deck he saw that corsairs of the Kinslayer lounged about, playing cards, and drinking grog. Memories of his own time at sea flooded back into him and with a cold eye he passed took in the crew. Though they seemed relaxed and unfocused to the untrained eye, each had weapons within reach and all bore the quiet tension of a cat about to strike. His gaze also passed over a large group of warriors, around 200 elves unless he missed his guess, that were now assembled in tight even ranks, and Laneran saw that several veterans, all bearing the heraldry of the Kinslayer were standing in front of them. Wading through the crowd, easily for one of his size as he stood almost a head over the warriors of HOuse Karkarin, he made his way to the front of the group. Standing proudly, the red and black of House Sceadu clearly visible within the sea of warriors. He noted that where he was a giant among those assembled in ranks, several of the men of Cerak's crew would almost match him in height and breadth. 

He did not wait long, standing there in formation, before a door to the aft section of the ship slammed open and the Kinslayer, tall and brooding, flowing ebony locks streaming down his back, emerged from the portal. His form radiated cold hatred and vicious fury only just kept in check. On instinct Laneran noted that the man was massive in stature. His powerful arms and shoulders rippling with corded muscle. Laneran knew his own strength, but he also knew that after months of idle activity that he would not have been able to best Cerak in sheer physical power. 

Striding next to the Kinslayer was the beautiful Elena Karkarin. When he had first arrived at the Bloodied Palace, Laneran had been taken by her sheer presence and beauty. Her very form rippling with pure power and ability. He was attracted to her, but extremely wary. Her reputation for cruelty and deceit was strong. Focusing back on the events of the present, Laneran couldn't help but think that at least he would have something pretty to look at for the duration of the journey to Brettonia. 

The Kinslayer clapped his hands and in an instant his lieutenant and several of the sergeants went into motion. The veterans began to move through the group of 200 warriors, selecting them as children did for afternoon games. Pinching flesh, studying armor and weapons, the whole time tossing jabbing insults to the Warriors of the Karkarin. Laneran smiled, so reminiscient of his times as a corsair captain, picking only the best and finest. He could tell that the insults were intended to get the prospective selectees of guard, to get them to show some sign of weakness, but even so the proud warriors of House Karkarin began to bristle and become more and more agitated as the selection went on. Finally one of the warriors snapped in the face of the humiliation. He went after the sergeant in front of him and headbutted the man sending him sprawling to the deck. The sergeant however was unphased, springing back to his feet in an instant and rushing at the man with several other sergeants, blades drawn. 

Shooting a glance in Elena's direction he could tell that she was at the breaking point and sure enough power began to radiate around her slender form. A daemonic word rumbled from her lips and as she extended her hand a wave of malicious power rolled over the sergeants, their blades clattering the the deck. WIth sinuous, dangerous grace she strode down from the platform the Kinslayer occupied, power rippling around her, her voice rang out with pure force of will and command.

"Karkarin draw blade"

Though he was not of Karkarin, he was pledged to their House for this expedition and in an instant his hand flew to the massive two-handed sword on his back. With a flash of reflected light from the morning sun and a rasp of steel his blade joined 200 others. With the elements of creation and destruction whipping around her in a cyclone of wind and power, Elena commanded, "Karkarin form the Hag Queen's Malice."

Stepping into the formation on pure instinct, he moved in the formation that he had learned from the swords masters of House Karkarin. Though he bore no shield his armored form was shield enough for the men to either side and behind him. His eyes narrowed as corsairs all around them drew blades, put hands on repeater crossbows, and made ready for the confrontation that was brewing, tension thickening the air around them. Elena's melodious voice, laced with cruelty and demand, cut through the air, "These are warriors Kinslayer. Treat them thus or Khaine will gain his first souls upon your very ship. I promise you that." 

Laneran could tell that eyes all over the ship began to turn in the direction of the Kinslayer. He, however, cared not what the man did. He took in those corsairs closest to him. Looking for weaknesses, knowing that his reach was much longer and his blows more powerful, none of the men around him gave him pause, he would cut them down and protect Elena if necessary, though he was more than sure she could take care of herself, he had obligations to fulfill, and the honor of House Sceadu to uphold. He saw the tension leave the corsairs and obviously, though he had not seen it, the Kinslayer had given some form of command to stand down. As the tension left his body, he glanced up to the platform and saw that Cerak and disappeared into his cabin. Elena followed him after shouting,"Karkarin to attention!". he joined the other warriors in sheathing his sword, the sound of blades slamming home in unison an eerie sound that echoed across the water. 

The selection proceeded, though this time without the leers, jeers, and insults that had been present before. On of the sergeants, who Laneran noted had not been one to bandy insults, stepped up in front of him, forcing Laneran to look down slightly to look in the mans eyes, in which he saw centuries of experience and knowledge. This was not a man to make decisions on the fly, he weighed the options, intelligently following the course of action that would be the best. He saw ruthless command, vicious ability, and merciless power. 

"Big bastard encha?" The man asked. Raising an eyebrow, the quirk of a smile playing around his lips, Laneran noted that he had taken a confrontational tone, one reminiscient of the insults moments gone. Laneran had undergone this treatment before.... Because of his size most thought him less intelligent than others. He would not raise to insults, they were beneath him, though he had not expected this treatment from this man. 

"What happen your mother get fucked by a Brettoni, it would explain the hidous features and the stentch of failure that hangs about you."

Locking gazes with the man Laneran replied, "What happened to my mother was exactly what she deserved, the ruthless bitch. As far as the stench of failure I am unsure what you mean. I bathed this morning and what ever stentch you smell must be one of the goat spawned crew lazing about your decks. Don't pretend to know me, you know nothing of my past. As for being ugly... I find it helps keep the flies away." He watched as the man grew more wary and irrate as he spoke, and he knew what was coming next. "This is for your cheek," The sergeant backhanded him across the mouth with an armored fist, to his surprise barely causing Laneran's head to move from side to side. 

Sticking his tonuge to the corner of his mouth he tasted blood, sucked some from the wound, and spat it to the deck at his feet. Keeping his smile polite and his eyes locked on the other man's he said, "touch me again and I will rip your head from your body." Again he knew what was coming and as the second strike flew toward him he grabbed the mans arm, twisted it at the wrist, and jerking it straight in a control hold, stopping just before the breaking point. His left arm flashing down as he felt cold steel at his neck, an ounce more pressure would open his jugular. 

The sergeant stood still, appraisal in his eyes, "You are fast for one so large, but not fast enough." 

Laneran smiled as he tapped the triple blades of his guantlet against the inside of the mans thigh, just above the armor, poised over the femoral artery there. The man let out a laugh and moved his knife, calm and wisdom replacing feigned rage. Laneran released his grip on the man's arm and stood to his full height once more. 

"I've met too many big bastared with not enough between the ears or the legs to risk having one in my command," he said though his tone showed approval rather than rejection and with a nod he sent Laneran to join the group of those he had already selected. 

As he walked away he heard a muffled guffaw come from an absolute giant of a man, who stood even taller than Laneran did, and the two exchanged friendly insults. He also heard them wagering on the squads that they had selected. Laneran had no idea why they would be betting in that fashion, but he knew that it would only prove to be interesting to find out over the next coming days. 

***​
Nagar, his sergeant, trained them ruthlessly over the next several days. Most in his group found the training regiment hard and arduous, but Laneran reveled in it. He was ecstatic to be back on the open sea, the viciously brutal physical activity of running a ship and the weapons training of the corsairs renewing his strength, causing already prodigious muscles to harden and grow, his fleshed streched taugh over rippling sinew. His sun starved skin growing ruddy and tan under the constant beating of the sun above. 

In the days since his selection he had learned that part of the Kinslayer's tradition was to have new squads compete against each other, in a form of ritual combat, and that these fights were heavily bet upon by the crew of the Prince's Bane. He now understood the bet that the Nagar had entered into with the other hulking sergeant. It was to be over who reigned victorious in these fights. 

Soon enough their days of training ended and Laneran found himself seated cross-legged, shirtless and barefooted on the massive cargo elevator that went up to the main deck. Across from him sat his opponent. The man had dark eyes, almost black, with short cropped dark hair. He was large for an Elf, but not so large as Laneran. He moved with a fighters grace as he paced the deck, and his arms and chest bore several thick scars, Laneran knew knife fighting scars when he saw them, he bore several of similar size and in similar locations. He wore simple baggy breeches and a leather vest, his muscles corded and lean from training and work aboard the ship. The two had chosen unarmed combat, and had chosen each other based on their differences in size and grace. Laneran had watched the man train, and where he could not match Laneran in size and strength, the type of fight this was going to be had nothing to do with who was faster and stronger. The man, Hestarin the man's name, moved like lightning and used his opponents strengths against them. Laneran had learned similar principles under the Shades. This fight would be about endurance and intelligence. Movement and counter-movement. 

From above rang the command, "Bring up our warriors." and the elevator lurched upwards as the pulleys and ropes creaked and squeeked. Standing Laneran rolled his neck and shoulders, joints cracking, and muscles straining. He went to stand face to face with his opponent, smiling his crooked smile as the elevator brought them into a make shift arena, other members of his squad ringing out with their opponents around him. The roar of thousands of throats screaming, the sound washing over him, titillating his senses and causing his nerves to tingle in anticipation.


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Noctavigant Tyr*

(OOC: Heartfelt apologies for my late post guys, hopefully we can get on with the RP now and I apologise for delaying it)

Noctavigant kept his breathing even as the four elves prowled into his quarters, two stayed by the door, the other two creeping over to the ruffled bed and raising their blades high above him. Then plunging them down. Cries of confusion and anger heralded the fountaining of feathers as they discovered the pathetic ruse, one of the door guards turning to run out of the chamber. His eyes widened in shock as he saw the pale expressionless face of his intended victim, and without a first thought, let alone a second, Noctavigant grabbed the Elf by the back of his hair and spun, pushing his wide eyes onto the spikes adorning the doorway.

The would-be assassin collapsed with nary a sound, but Noctavigant was already moving. A gentle brush with the tip of the scalpel left the second door guard flapping on the floor like a wet fish, spinal fluids leaking from the neat incision at the base of his neck. The other two turned at the sound, raising their swords and Noctavigant dived between them, his empty hand shooting out to jab into the nerve cluster under one's arm, he jerked, and his sword flew into his compatriots neck. He stared at his arm in shock as Noctavigant broke it with his knee, before hamstringing him with his own sword. He slid into the shadows beside the door as two others rushed in at the commotion. He slipped out while their backs were turned, these two wore armour and bore the distinctive crest of Salza's personal guard, not warriors he was going to risk trifling with.
_____________________________________________________________

They were a vicious group of warriors, that Noctavigant could see at one glance. Lounging on deck, the corsairs twirled blades and talked among themselves, while others surveyed the troops of House Karkarin with a disdainful interest. The youngest of House Tyr returned the stares with his own passionless gaze, they turned away quickly at that, there was a madness in those eyes, one far beyond the reach of any crazed Norseman. Eyes that spoke of a mind that would turn the world on it's back just to watch it struggle.

One of the Corsair's was more interesting though, he had shivered slightly before turning away, although so slight that only someone like Noctavigant could have caught it. He tilted his head a fraction, resting his gaze on the whipcord thin Dark Elf for a moment.

At that there was sharp movement in the corner of his eye and Noctavigant turned to follow it, coming to attention as he spotted the lithe and sinuous form of Elena Karkarin, there was no sense in drawing attention to himself. She was accompanied by a figure of incredible sense and power, his body rippling with rage and hate, the Kinslayer strode forth. As his gaze passed over the massed ranks of warriors even Noctavigant felt a brief chill pass through him. The Elf truly was breathtaking.

A brief nod saw a new process begin, certain among the Druchi's crew were selected and ordered into the ranks of the Karkarin. Then the pre-formed units began to leave, walking off in search of quarters. Leaving about two hundred Dark Elves opposite the varied forms of the Kinslayer's Sergeant's. Then the selection process began. The first to be chosen were the Corsairs, including, Noctavigant noticed, the Elf who had studied him earlier.

But when the sergeant's moved on to the Warriors of House Karkarin it changed. The Druchi were treated almost as slaves at a market, inspected, taunted and treated as though they were merely items on sale. It wasn't long before one of the warriors lost it. Noctavigant had already been watching him with interest, watching the anger build until final it was unleashed, into the nose of a particularly cocky Sergeant.

Furiously the other Corsair's closed in on the errant warrior, swords leaving sheaths on both sides. Noctavigant didn't blink, he saw no purpose in drawing his weapon on people he may well have to join to survive. But at Elena's sorcerous power and own words of command he obediently drew his sword, holding it upright before him as he stepped backwards, warriors closing up around him with the gentle sigh of well oiled metal.

He let Elena's furious words wash over him, registering them while allowing his mind to wander. On one plane he was hardly present, on another he took in the details of everything, all of the Sergeant's had passed over him so far, nineteen warriors, some had merely walked past, others had looked as though they would speak, but then hurried on as they met his eyes. Then a tall, slim Dark Elf approached, he met Noctavigant's gaze, and held it, an achievement in itself and for a mere fraction of a moment an unspoken conversation passed between them. The ancient Dark elf stared sorrowfully into the oily pits of his stare. "Your eyes portray death itself young one, which either means you are death on the battlefied or death off it, whether I will rue or praise these words only Khaine will tell. You're with me little one." He gestured to the group he had already gathered, including the Dark elf who had shown interest before. Noctavigant inclined his head, before walking silently to join the group.
_____________________________________________________________

The week had been hard, the training had been brutal, and while Noctavigant was no stranger to hardship, he could still feel the changes the punishment was bringing to his body. Muscles subtly taking on more mass, his skin raw from sun burn, but not tanned as the others had become, still as stubbornly pale as it had always been beneath the red of the suns own punishment. He caught his breath slightly as he peeled the skin off the back of his hand, fascinated at the colours and texture of the flesh beneath it, even as new experiences flooded his nerve endings. What things he had not even considered yet, barely a week aboard the vessel and already he was learning!

His opponent looked on as Noctavigant held the skin up to the light, marvelling at the play of light across it. Before carefulyl replacing it on the back of his hand, pushing it back into place as though it were no greater task than replacing a glove. His opponent was slight as well, and had already proven his devilish speed. He did not fight as Noctavigant would have wished however, gone was the cold logic of his own movements, as the staring fury spoke of a wild and destructive creature who would simply unleash his bloodlust at the slightest opportunity. Doubtless in a flurry of attacks that would leave most opponents in tatters.

But he was not worried, surely that kind of manic energy would not last for long in a battle. Although it was true that his own punches would hurt him as peeling skin flaked off his knuckles and the rest of his body. it would surely be an interesting encounter.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Ellros walked out of the whore house, hair whipping back in the wind. Ellros felt a smile come to his lips as he walked away, shaking his head. He had just been coned out of gold coins, mind you he took his money back pretty quick. He staggered onto the ship, to the amusement of some, but he cared not. Unlike other Dark Elves he cared not for his appearance, hair kept shaggily as he took a seat with a bunch of the Kinslayers men. Opposite them stood the men of the house of Karkarin, some in ranks, some not.

Ellros couldn’t help but laugh at them with some of the Kinslayers men, catching one of them in particular. A female Druchi. He wasn’t stupid, there was probably a reason that she was here, and he was sure that she would be someone to watch just in case. Ellros wasn’t going to be drawn in, he was no fool anymore, that was behind him now.

He stood as the Kinslayer exited his chambers, the subtle form of one of the nobles of house Karkarin by his side. Obviously she was to accompany them on their mission of revenge, though it was a mission of gold for him and the other mercenaries. The kinslayer nodded at his lieutenants who in turn spoke to the squad leaders. They chose members of their squads to stand with the Karkarin. Ellros found himself having to join them, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of shame for a moment. He was to join the Karkarin, and not fight alongside men who he knew could fight, admittedly they might have stabbed him in the back, but at least they were easy enough for him to con them.

He did notice some of the strongest and best fighters the Karkarin had were picked out as well, and felt a little better at this. Quickly 20 sergeants stepped forward, poking and trying to humiliate the warriors of the Karkarin, and at the same time quickly choosing the warriors of the Kinslayer that had joined them to be part of their respective squads.
Ellros was chosen by an old fool, one of the Kinslayers most trusted who had fallen from favour, Nagar Dankaroth. Ellros was the second chosen by him, and nodded at the other corsairs that were chosen. Suddenly the humiliation became too much for one of the Karkarin and he drew a powerful headbutt against one of the sergeants. The womans voice by the side of the Kinslayer ordered her troops to draw plays, in an obvious attempt at showing their power. They formed a intimidating formation, and Ellros felt a hand reach for his blade, like many of the corsairs. While they would take casualties in a fight, Ellros was confident that the corsairs would win, especially if he could get some of the animals to attack the Karkarin without anyone knowing. 

However it settled down, and Ellros found himself watching as more and more of his new squad mates were chosen. He didn’t care for them much, intrigued though as the woman he watched earlier was also chosen. Easier for him to keep an eye on her, ensure that she doesn’t end up attacking him. He had plenty of enemies to worry about as it was.

For the next five days they trained ruthlessly hard. Ellros hearing from other corsairs that his sergeant and another ancient had a bet on whose squad was better, which would end in sentry duty for the losers. He was not looking forward to that, so he trained hard with the others. He was used to the Kinslayer training regieme. He had been with them for a while now, and while his skills with beasts came along in secret, no one but him knowing about them, his swordsmanship against other Druchi and humans and such did need improvement. He trained hard, not wanting to be the shameful weak link in the squad.

On the fourth day they had found their opponents, Ellros’s being a druchi that had been taken from the corsair ranks as well. They were both familiar with the duels that were fought on the ship, and Ellros knew he would be hard pressed to beat his opponent. His opponent stood a little taller them him, probably a couple of inches. He was thin though, unlike Ellros who was more thickset. Ellros knew he was better with a pair of fists than this Druchi was, and was desperate to get any advantage he could.
However instead they would fight with wooden swords, something that meant that they wouldn’t risk injury.

They stood waiting on the fifth day, Ellros staring at his opponent as he gave his blade a few experimental sweeps with his blade. Ellros looked at his own wooden blade, a more cumbersome weapon than the metal swords, but one which meant he would most likely leave the arena alive, something which mattered greatly to him. He didn’t say anything to his opponent, he ignored him completely as they were risen to the deck by the command of the Kinslayer.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Face after face seems to meld into one, screams for blood reverberating into a single unified deafening tumult. However sour you are you cannot help but feel lifted by the occasion, for a single moment you are all that matters, this moment is all that exists.

Some of you play the crowd arms aloft, striking poses, indeed Nagar and the great giant seem to be in their element, arms raised they whip up the crowd nearest them into a frenzy of excitement, Nagar stealing a long passionate kiss from a druchii, their lips parting leaving Nagar with blood on his lips and a glint in his eye.

Then the kinslayer raises his hand and the sound dies away, even the sea seeming to quieten for his rumbling voice. All eyes turn to him, yet you notice Elena is no longer by his side, she is hurrying away to her cabin, a raven perched on her slender shoulder, he hands running over parchment. Razyel you are nearest and you recognise the golden ring upon the ravens leg with ease, Carielle sends word, will Elena be forewarned of your dissapearance, does this worry you, you have always been on good terms with your sister yet.....

Then the words erupt from the Kinslayers mouth

"Warriors in line"

You gently shuffle into line, a mans width apart, 3 strides away from your opponet, your stances neutral your eyes forced to bore into eachothers.
Mynerith’s you may be worried more than others, it appears the space and time you were relying on will not be given to you. Their will be 20 bodies dueling in the space you had reserved for you, this truly will be a great spectacle, a melee of combats, action everywhere they look.

The kinslayer strides between you, strolling along the no mans land created between you

"Once again, our two ancient, brothers in arms, make children of themselves"

His voice is a snarl, a whipcrack, the kinslayers features stone, the eyes of hatred betraying no mirth.

"and entertainment for us all"

the slightest laugh trickles between his teeth yet still no mirth touches his eyes

"Place your last bets"
There is a particular flurry of activity particularly towards the front of the boat where you will have seen the kinslayers gives permission for several of the richer nobles to set up stalls displaying more structured betting whilst all across the crowds there is the slap of hands as friends bet against friends, laughter rippling across the crowds. Then the crowd dies and the kinslayers turns towards the stalls, their owners frantically calculating, gold slipping through agile fingers.

Standing now at the end of the line next to Noctavigant he raises both hands 

"Warriors stand ready," blades slide from sheeths, muscles crack and tense even as a collective sigh ripples through the crowd.

"Honour guard stand ready" Suddenly you see behind each of you one of the honour guard standing knife in hand, some hold parchment aloft, others merely their left hand.

5 slashes or a single drop of blood between you and failure. The weight of the duel suddenly comes crashing down upon you, the crowd no longer a boost, a solid reminder of what is to come

It seems though the kinslayer will judge all will know the score. The kinslayer holds for a moment relishing in the suspense then the mighty arms descended his words deep and booming

"Let the games begin"
_________________________________________________________________

Ellros
Your wiry opponent attacks immediately, a single long stride and he is in striking range, with a long arcing swing of his sword, you parry and counter with little difficulty but you find him out of reach your counter strike swinging harmlessly upon thin air, a second stroke from your opponent forcing you back once again, the clack of wood upon wood as you turn his stroke away.

He gives you no respite, dominating the early duel with sheer reach, placing two marks upon your chest as you attempt to find a way to get near him though he receives two in return as your strikes find home. 

You need a plan, you are stronger than him and his reach and the length of his sword means if you can get up close to him you are certainly better off.... oh if you can find a way to make stun him, just for a moment. Plan devious elf.... end the post as you begin to enact said plan
_________________________________________________________
Noctavigant: (I'm assuming your going barehanded, i read that from your post)

The wiry manic warrior is just as you expected, a flurry of punches you meet with elbows and hands, yet despite your own speed three good blows land upon you within the first exchange and you feel a flash of anger as you see the Kinslayer tap his fist against his leg 3 times and watch the member of his honour guard make 3 slashes on the paper in your opponents column.

How you react to going down without reply immediately is something I'd be interested in. You break apart, your opponents eyes wide, his tongue flittering across eager lips and you note as you suspected he is already panting

Yet you were pushed to the limit by that last flurry, however quick you are, he is so frenzied his blows barely coordinated, so difficult to muster a coherent response. So much for waiting for him to tire, it seems the situation is more desperate than you thought. 

A second salvo like that and he'll have bested you... so soon... no you cant have that, you have to attack but if you attack he may not bother to defend and you cant afford to loose anymore strikes. You need to get him either on the ground or get behind him.... but how... you sir need a plan. Think it through and begin to enact it, you can give him a token strike in the process but i shall judge its overall success.
_____________________________________________
Myrenith
Things do not look good, your more hemmed in than you were expecting against a brutish bastard, who gives you smouldering leers even as he sidles forward, so ungraceful in movement, your orc metaphor so apt, he even bears the same shrewd intelligence behind dull mud brown eyes.

He comes forward with swinging fists which you evade easily yet he seems undettered even when you counter, two strikes going onto your bored, all the force you could muster barely seeming to even daze the bastard, merely making his smile grow wider.

A third strike, not even a counter but your own, a lightening strike he is not fast enough to block yet it does not seem to deter him and for a single moment you think this is going to easier than you expected. When you hit a wall of hands and suddenly you realize, he was hemming you in, orc in look but oh most defintely not in brain the hands force you forward and you stumble against his chest and he clamps hard arms around your shoulders, and you feel yourself lifted slightly your eyes meeting his as he thrusts his face straight into yours. Your difference in size perhaps your only saving grace for his forehead smashes against yours with a tremendous crack and not against your nose as he intended, and which would surely have knocked you cold. You go down flying backwards into the crowd, yet this is your saving grace as the throng gives you a second to regain a little sense even as the crowd start to push you to your feet, lecherous greedy hands clawing and groping even as they force you into his waiting arms.

Your winning on points but in practice your deep in the brown stuff right now, one more hit like that and its goodnight. Your groggy and hurt so your not as quick as you might be but hell you had better coax your brain into doing some thinking. Respond to the situation, but leave it open ended.

Meraxes
She leaves her helm off, the golden locks shimmering above her armour even as she meets you blade for blade, your initial salvos unlike your barearmoured colleagues, slow and probing, your styles of battle similar and yet also so different, hers less couth and cultured more rough round the edges and often between the ringing of blade on blade, she postures and poses, her flashing smile and the flourishes of her blade designed to irritate and antagonise you

Finally irritation breaks and you toy with her no more your strokes becoming faster and faster increasing in intensity and violence and suddenly her blade is spinning from her hand. You open up to take first blood, and i'd very much like to know how you'd do that, however just as you see her eyes widen in horror, a second figure bundles into you, your stance unprepared you crash to the ground entangled around a second woman, your head rattling round inside your helm, dazing you, your vision blurred by the mismatch of eyeholes and eyeballs, your sword no longer in your hand. A flurry of elbows and knees raining against your armour as the woman rapped around you thrashes

Through one eye, you see in slow motion your opponent a dagger in hand moving slowly towards you. Your in trouble, very much in danger of loosing the fight, i'm sure you'd have silent curses for whoever sent their opponent into you yet you need a plan, see the update below for a little more context but how do you respond to this sudden adversity... leave the reaction open ended.

Acaman As is your style you attack with intensity looking to finish the duel quickly and cleanly yet it seems this elf is agile and tactical with prior knowledge of how you fight plus a keen plan of how to win.

You push her to the limits looking for the opening yet always she seems to scramble away from you or deflect at the last moment with gauntlet or shield, all to often rebutting with a thrust of the edge of her shield or the back of her gauntlet.

It comes to you all so suddenly as she spins away and thrusts her shield hard into your face, snapping your head back and sending you reeling, though the blow creates a moment of clarity. The bitch is trying to bust your nose or your lip and win the duel that way.

Anger or desperation spurs you forth and you surge forward a strong blow sending her stumbling into Meraxes who duels next to you sending him crashing to the ground their limbs entangled, his sword spilling away your opponent thrashing dazed as well. From the cornor of your eye you see Meraxes opponent moving in a smile on her lips and a dagger in her hand.

What do you do? do you take her out or finish your own duel or try and do both. Either way begin to do it, however leave it open ended.

Aradril The nervous elf, keeps talking even as he studies you intently but seems happy to make no move against you merely posture and play, hand flicking out in playful slaps easily knocked away. Either way he slaps with one hand withdrawing to send his other hand towards your other cheek yet you read him easily and seize the long gangling arm clamping it against your cheek before you twist it causing him to squeal in pain even as you rain two punches into the mans stomach. Yet still the scores remain empty the honour guard giving a questioning glance at the judge, yet the kinslayer is seemingly intent upon another duel yet you cannot help but have the feeling he is deliberately ignoring you.

Perhaps some lingering resentment still remains that you bested him, perhaps he still feels the burn of shame. Yet this merely angers you more, you clearly outmatch your opponent yet still the scores remain empty. Fuck him then, you'll show him your talents, make it a spectacle, a gory spectacle, i'd like some nice description and some rather vivid violence, horrific enough to force even a bad judge to slap his hand against his thigh. Smash 4 nasty gory blows against your opponent and take a soft one in return but dont finish the duel. lets see what foul tortures you've got in that twisted mind mate.

Razyel

The large brute is a well known large brute, considered one of the more talented swordsman amongst the kinslayers forces the odds on your battle have been unfavourable at best yet as usual you suffer in silence and you might have noticed that Nagar in particular intends to try and make a heavy profit on your duel. You need to make an impression, do something bold and unnerving, as par Nagar nobody amongst the kinslayer thinks anything of you, with elena gone you have a little more leeway.

What you do I'm not sure but I was personally thinking removing helm and chest plate essentially making a statement that you think you can beat him at a handicap. That was my own personal preference, yet if you can take a less severe handicap. Really is up to you but i want you to take some form of risk.

Either way, your opponent starts casually sword swinging wildly yet gradually it gets tighter and tighter as you match him more and more, the intensity of the duel raising as your swords begin to become a blur of glittering steel. He is indeed a talented swordsman and 3 times the crowd gasps as you barely evade or block a thrust or swipe that would have ended the duel and your life. 

Yet you feel you have more left in you where as your opponent seems to be almost at the end of his talent and you begin to push on the attack, forcing him further and further backwards until under pressure he slips upon a discarded sword, clattering to the deck. 

You have created spectacle, true you have proven yourself a magnificent swordsman, yet do you end the duel now for you cannot help but feel the audience would see it as winning on a technicality, a fluke, perhaps it would even crush the little respect you have gained.

Your eyes find the kinslayer standing mere feet away and he meets your cold eyes with those hate filled ones.
What do you do, either way leave it open ended.

Laneran(i've been looking forward to this one due to the different combatants)
You can see shrewd eagerness in the mans eyes and even as the kinslayers arms fall he is already on you, lightening is slower, he is absolutely lethal, he strikes high and you catch the stroke trying to hold him but he is already twisting away arm rotating with your momentum to get behind you a sharp tap at your knee sending a slash upon the scoreboard, yet even with your arm twisted your stronger than him and you lurch him forward into your outstretched arm and send him crashing to the floor

He is up again even before the slash goes onto the board, bouncing on his toes corded muscles, blood already running freely from his nose yet he does not notice, he is part of the fight, the battle is his life

You've said he uses his weaknesses against them so in his next two strikes (both falling) illustrate how he manipulates these weaknesses, yet each time you use your strengths, illustrate them and all to pull it back to 3 a piece.

Thus far he has attacked you, you've defended and countered and you feel suddenly that this what he is going for, scoring first to go 4-3 4-4 5-4 victory. You cant have that, you need to take control of this bout and take the victory. No sooner do you decide this, he comes again, turn defense into attack, block his assault, without taking a strike, and tell me how Laneran would use his brains to win this thing, enact it but leave it open ended.



______________________________________________________________
In general guys im willing to give you quite alot of leeway with whatever you want to do with the duel, i dont want the duels to finish this update, though i would like a nice descriptive post. 

I'm more than willing for you to add to the interchange using what I give you as a rough guideline if you wish to flesh it out, play to the crowd, mentally torture your opponent or just good all fashioned descriptive kicking the crap out of each other. It really is up to you.

Any questions pm me, hope you like the updates, tried my best to give as much plenty variety as i can


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

Almost as soon as the Kinslayer’s arm dropped Acaman was leaping forward. His blade flashed forward in a stunning display of swordsmanship. The woman was lucky though, every blow being blocked by a hairsbreadth using gauntlet or shield. He controlled his irritation at her survival and instead focussed on driving her back across the area. He backed her into a corner and the crowd watching his fight fell suddenly silent as they watched his every movement. The woman got in a lucky blow with her shield that rocked his head back. It was all so clear to him all of a sudden. She was trying to bust his nose or lip and win the fight fast. Well he would be damned if that was going to happen.

His jaw tightened and he forgot himself. Where before he had been fast now he was little more than blur. His sword flickered out and Merilwen’s head jerked backwards on instinct, causing the flickering tip to just miss her face. “A pity,” he said, smiling “but then it would have ruined your beauty.” He laughed as she froze at that and before she could react he slammed his sword into her chest plate, stunning her before he grabbed her and threw her behind him. He turned to see her slam into Meraxes, knocking him over. Acaman inwardly groaned and then tensed when he saw Meraxes’ former opponent approaching him with a drawn knife.

He more or less flew forward and his sword stopped the blow. “Now that’s hardly fair is it?” he said glibly. Hypocritical of course as he himself would have done exactly the same thing. He kicked his opponent in the side and she rolled off Meraxes before coming to her feet snarling. “Die arrogant fool,” she yelled. Acaman raised an eyebrow in mock indifference. “Coming from you my dear?” She went red in the face and at the same time Acaman spotted Meraxes rising to his feet. “That’s better,” he smiled. As Merilwen turned slightly he suddenly lashed out at her. The blade swept her legs away but failed to pierce the armour. Acaman kicked the woman in front of him in the chest before tossing his sword to Meraxes and drawing his daggers. “Won’t you just stay down,” he said tiredly as Merilwen climbed to her feet…


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

As the elevator creaked to a stop Laneran looked around at the massive crowd that had gathered to watch the fights. Each pale face looking like the next, their voices raising together in vicious shrieks and cries for blood. The noice was tremendous, a defeaning cacaphony of raised voices. The 20 men and women down in the make shift arena the central focus of the crowd, all eyes turned in their direction. Laneran had eye only for his opponent. He watched as Hestarin bathed in the affections of the crowd, his eyes closing for the briefest of seconds as he basked in the adulation of untold thousands. The fool. Laneran cared not for the affections of the crowd, they were but a side effect of this spectacle. His only thoughts were besting the fighter in front of him. He watched as Hestarin spun slowly to face each part of the crowd, arms out stretched, and he couldn't help but laugh at the man's ludacris actions. Soon the crowd would turn on him, turn on them both as the fights began. He did not see that there was as much mockery as there was praise in the tone of the crowd. They cared not who triumphed as long as there was blood. 

Looking down the deck Laneran saw that Nagar and the giant enjoyed the presence of the crowd. Raising their arms and shouting, they whipped the spectators nearest to them in a frenzy. Nagar grabbed on of the women at the edge of the crowd and pulled her into a sensual embrace stealing a kiss from her that seemed to last forever, the two druchii blocking out the others around them. He was grinning wolfishly when they parted and Laneran couldn't help but smile at his sergeant's antics. 

The crowd grew still as the Kinslayer rose from his chair and raised his hand in the air. The anticipation of the crowd almost palpable as the mighty captain surveyed the warriors beneath him. Laneran thought that he saw Elena disappear into her cabin, but his vantage point was not the best. Why had she left just on the brink of the outset of this contests. Surely she would have wanted to see her warriors succeed or fail with her own eyes.

_"Warriors in line,"_ the Kinslayer bellowed and Laneran obeyed the command, stepping up to his opponent, the differences in their height a stark contrast now that they were so close to one another. He could see some of the crowd pointing and jeering at Hestarin, obviously they thought that Laneran would crush him in the coming contest with ease. Laneran knew better. That he would win he had no doubt, but it would not be as easy as their apparent physical mismatch suggested. 

The kinslayer stepped down into the arena, taking in the Nagar and the giant he said, _"Once again, our two ancient, brothers in arms, make children of themselves, and entertainment for us all."_ His voice was sharp, snarling, mirthless despite his words. A slight chuckles escaped the stoic captain's lips as he walked down the no man's land between the combatants, sharply turning at the end of the row to address the crowd. "Place your last bets," he called and his proclamation was met with a flurry of activity in the crowd. Gold changed hands, voices raised in arguement and contestation. Looking down to the warriors assembled the Kinslayer said, _"Warriors stand ready."_

Laneran stretched, fingers interlaced, hands as far out in front of him as he could reach, palms facing outwards. The muscles of his shoulders and biceps creaking, his knuckles popping. He centered his balance, one foot back, his stance bladed, his hands up and ready. _"Honor guard stand ready,"_ the Kinslayer called and a druchii with a piece of parchment stepped up behind Laneran, a small stick of charcoal in his other hand. 5 slashes on the paper was all he needed. 5 tick marks between himself and victory over his foe. Laneran smiled, his lips pulling back into a feral snarl as Cerak called out_,"Let the games begin!"_ Laneran had a second to contemplate the eagerness in Hestarin's eyes before the Kinslayer's arms fell, starting the contest.

Hestarin was on him in a blur, faster than Laneran had anticipated, fists flying out in a complicated pattern. Laneran's own arms flashed as he blocked with his forearms, twisting each of the the man's strikes away, leveraging for advantage. Hestarin's arm flashed upward towards Laneran's face, but he managed to block the strike, grabbing the man's wrist he attempted to pull Hestarin off balance but the man was faster, and his opponent twisted and jerked, forcing Laneran's arm backwards and to the side, stretching it to the point that Laneran hissed in pain, and then in frustration as the man delivered a quick strike to the back of his knee. Enraged, overpowering Hestarin's hold, Laneran, whipped his arm out, forcing Hestarin out in front of him, surprise on his opponents face that the blow to the back of the knee did not cause Laneran to fall compounded by the fact that Laneran just threw him about like a rage doll. With a roar of rage Laneran surged forward, and he caught Hestarin across the chest with an outstretched arm, flattening the man to the deck. 

Laneran was not surprised as Hestarin leapt back to his feet blood streaming from his nose, and he heard the Guard making two marks on the parchment in front of him, one for each combatatnt. Laneran smiled at his opponent. This was exactly the challenge he had anticipated, Hestarin's agility versus his strenght, and with a smile of his own, Hestarin surged forward attempting to catch Laneran off guard, but the big man was ready for him. Hestarin launched a series of punches, getting ever closer to Laneran. Laneran caught the man's left hand, swinging it around so that he was behind Hestarin, he managed to get the man in a control hold, bent over at the waist his arm stretched out to the breaking point. Hestarin, laughed as he twirled around, breaking the control hold, Laneran just noticing that he had let the lithe man inside his confrortable reach, and is cost him a blow to the ribs. Sucking in a breath, Laneran slammed his meaty forearm across the man's face and followed up with a left cross as Hestarin spun with the motion of his forearm blow, the powerful punch sending Hestarin back to the deck. He stood spat two teeth out, blood running down his chin before he began to cirlce Laneran. Laneran felt himself admiring the wiry man's constitution, his eyes seemed a bit unfocused, but he was alert and wary as the score keeper made another mark for each man. 

Hestarin moved, his speed incredible as he tried to exploit Laneran's week spot, right underneath his chin, too close for him to comfortably move his arms. Laneran blocked the two strikes aimed at his head and he was able to trap both of Hestarin's arms, but it left his side exposed. A quick knee strike to Laneran's side earned Hestarin another slash, but his reward was to be tossed across the deck, into the crowd who dutifully pushed him back into the combat right into a front kick that Laneran delivered to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. 3 to 3, Laneran would have smiled but he knew that by winning the first strike, all Hestarin had to do was match him stroke for stroke. He rushed into take advantage of Hestarin's moment of weakness but it was surprised when the man flew at him feet first in a flying kick, a desperate ploy to try and knock Laneran to the ground. He let the man come, though it mean that Hestarin would gain another strike, his opponent had misjudged Laneran's size and balance. He caught Hestarin by the right ankle as the judge scored a slash in Hestarin's column, and with a vicious twist and pull Laneran snapped the delicate bones just above the foot, and slammed hestarin down to the deck. Hestarin's scream could almost be heard above the other fights and the roar of the crowd. Bleeding from the back of the head from the laceration caused by his contact to the deck, Hestarin tried to stand, tried to push away from Laneran but his lame foot would not allow it. Fists raised for a final strike Laneran stalked towards him, smiling.


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

As the elevator reached the sailing deck Aradril's eyes went over the crowd. The noise was deafening, the sheer volume as they cried for blood almost overpowering. Aradril's eyes went back to his opponent whose mouth seemed to never stop. Seeing his Sergeant Nagar kissing a woman to the left of his opponent made the right side of his mouth curl up into a smirk at the look in the man's eyes as they broke apart. Aradril turned his gaze back upon his opponent who still kept talking about what he was going to do to him. Taking the opportunity Aradril does some quick stretches to limber his back and legs as Cerak stands up and calls for them to line up while giving a short speech and letting the betting of the higher ranking nobles commences in a flurry of activity at one end while around the circle friends bet each other for less. 

His opponent postures up and sends several slaps at his cheeks but Aradril easily bats them away. Backing away he jumps up and down waving his arms inciting the crowd to his favor. Stepping back into the combat he sends a lazy slap from his left hand that he pulls back and sends one with his right as Aradril expected. Sending his right out to block the feint Aradril catches the other hand across his cheek twisting it backwards and stepping close to him Aradril evicts a short scream of pain before swinging his right hand in a vicious hook to his body followed by a straight left to knock him back a few steps. Looking at the judge with his smirk intact Aradril sees he is looking at Cerak who is intently staring at another fight.

*What the fuck you bastard! Look over here! This is an outrage. Fine nurse your wounded pride you old fool! I have beaten you once and I will again! But for now I will make you watch!* Aradril thinks to himself as his eyes lose all trace of the laughter normally held within them. Focusing back at his opponent Aradril feints a strike with his right then left before landing a solid roundhouse kick straight into the man's left side. Feeling something give way Aradril ducks under the return blow placing his hands on his back Aradril drives his left knee into the same spot. Covering up his side forcing the wind from his opponent and sending him onto the deck he lands on his back to see, Aradril lashes out at his unprotected face his his left heel connecting with his nose breaking it and sending blood all over the downed mans face before grinding his heel into the shattered nose causing him to cry out in extreme pain before slamming his own leg into Aradril's right knee forcing him to remove his left heel or risk falling. As Aradril backed off a pace to let the man stand up before putting him out for good.

As his opponent shakily regained his feet spitting blood from his mouth that had pooled in the back of his throat the short time he was on his back. Aradril took several breaths to calm himself over Cerak ignoring his fight that saw the laughter back in his eyes as he knew victory was a so close. Advancing upon him Aradril sent a quick left right that the man blocked surprised at that Aradril backed off a step before lashing out with a quick left snap kick that drew his opponent's eyes downwards as a right cross connected with the remains of his nose sending him reeling back into the ring of hands. Waiting for the next blows from his opponent Aradril stood calmly facing him with no remorse or pity for what he had done to the man's nose.


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

The sword sung through the air, casting a glittering slither; intent for his throat. 

‘Oh no you don’t,’ Meraxes said, a mocking laughter upon his lips, as he arced his own blade up; locking it with the female’s. For a moment they were there, entwined; she smiling sardonically, he grunting impatiently. 

With an uncaring lash, he sent her back, reeling on her heels. 

Like a ravenous Nauglir, Meraxes launched forwards; sword held in a cruel, double-handed grip. The resounding clash was numbing, echoing out over the susurrus of taunts and cheers, bringing a moment of silence to the pair. She was upon him in a moment, her blade working tirelessly to penetrate Meraxes’ guard. Ultimately she failed, caught off guard by a barbaric kick, that sent her stumbling away, clutching instinctively at her thigh. 

Begrudgingly, she giggled. It was a musical sound, child-like and innocent, betraying the nature of it’s owner. Uncaring for such trivialities, Meraxes let out a wet snarl, darting forwards; a blur of dragon-scale and steel, glimmering romantically. 

But it was no shining knight that launched towards Saeran. He was a butcher, a breeder of hate; a cunning, snake-like individual who valued little but himself. Dexterously, he tossed his blade to his left hand, striking the elfin female in the shoulder with his pommel. 

He collapsed, letting out a pitiful mewl. 

‘Enough of this nonsense,’ The tall, darkly handsome warrior chuckled, raising his right hand high. The dragon-scale talons glinted menacingly, and he saw them, reflected in wide, terrified eyes. ‘I am truly sorry, my lady.’

His arm swung low - Intent for tearing Saeran’s serene face. 

Something struck him, the duck punching upwards to meet his helm. His helm rattled, his vision blurring as he stared into the wooden floor, hands and feet striking his back and sides. Laughter, harsh and guttural, assailed his eardrums. 

He was being humiliated; his social standing would be destroyed!

The Scion of House Syrax was clambering to his feet, Saeran stalking towards him, a dagger glinting in her hand; a feral, lustrous smile upon her lips. 

Acaman, the Elf fighting next to him, offered his sword. Meraxes caught it gracefully, giving a slight inclination of his head, as he tested the unfamiliar blade in his hand. 

‘As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted, -’ Meraxes chuckled, flexing his fingers with a hollow chime, before spearing forwards; talons and blade angled towards her gorget and chest plate respectively. ‘I am sorry.’


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

They met the crowds cries on the deck, Ellros smiling at how important this was for his fellow Druchi. He raised his arms in the air, allowing his arrogant side to take over. One could not but feel anything but excited in front of this crowd and he ran over to some corsairs he knew. "Ten gold pieces on me." He laughed at them, one quickly taking him up on his wager. He smiled as he walked away, he was going to defeat his opponent, and maybe show his worth once more to the Kinslayer.

He leapt into line as the Kinslayers voice carried across the deck, standing three strides apart from his opponent. They were forced to stare into each others eyes, both with an arrogant smirk on their faces. Ellros was confident if he could get in closer than his opponent then he would humiliate him, but his opponent had the range over him. The Kinslayer asked for bets, and Ellros watched the frantic scurrying as the assembled bet away what they had to watch a show that would ease their bloodlust.

He saw an honour guard standing behind his opponent, and could only imagine one would be behind him, to keep score on the match. He tensed his muscles, sword in hand as he waited for the order to begin, excitement and anticipation in the air. He wasn't the best swordsman, he knew that, against animals though he had no better on this ship. The Kinslayer spoke once more, "Let the games begin!"

His opponent leapt forward before Ellros knew it, and within a stride he was in striking range. Like a snake his attack whipped forward quickly, but Ellros's sword moved at the same pace, causing the wood to bang harmlessly against wood.

Ellros launched a counter attack, but cursed himself as he couldn't reach his opponent, and his strike cut through the air harmlessly. His opponent had the reach over him, and was content with keeping it that way. His opponent danced back, a backwards slice aimed at Ellros's chest, forcing him to step back and block it. His opponent was no fool though and kept up the long range attack, not coming close for Ellros to hit for a moment.

Ellros felt a bead of sweat drip down his forehead and he blocked again, his opponent doing all the attacking was dominating him, and making him look like a fool in front of the crowd and Kinslayer. Ellros leapt forward in a bid to get close enough to hit his opponent, but he left his guard too low as he did it. He felt wood smack his chest once on the left before he parried a blow to the right, forcing himself to stop his attack. The first hit had gone to his opponent, and he could hear cheers from some watching his fight and jeers from the few that had bet upon him. 

Ellros had no time to think though, as his opponent pressed the attack, striking quickly in a bid to make him make a mistake. Ellros managed to parry to hits, the third touching his chest. He cursed as the score went up, before leaping forward on a counter attack, putting his strength behind his blows. He pushed through his opponents defence, knocking his sword away from his body before jabbing him in the chest and slashing him as he leapt back.

The score level now Ellros knew he needed to get within his opponents reach, but how? He formulated a plan as quickly as possible. The next time his opponent stepped forward for an attack he would leap forward, and if he had to take the hit so he could get close enough. Once he would be close enough he would hit him in the stomach with his fist, hopefully winding him and leaving him open to get punished with the strikes of his sword. His opponent stepped forward, and Ellros launched himself at him, a snarl on his lips.


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Razyel stared up at the sky as he heard the spectators applaud as the combattents arrival on the deck but to Razyel the noise was irritated as it was off putting to his calm focused mind. Moving to stand several strides away from his opponent Razyel thought back on what he had heard about his opponent, according to those conversations he had overheard during the several days he had been on the ship his opponent was one of the Kinslayers best swordsmen along with one of his favorites which meant the kinslayer would be watching their fight with interest.

Giving one quick glance around at his surrondings Razyel saw that Elena was hurrying back into her cabin with a raven perched on her shoulder, the gold ring around its leg leg sent a shiver up small shiver up his spine which luckily no-one could see. The letter was clearly from his mother to Elena but what it was about he did not know until he examined the letter himself but judging by how she hurried away from observing the fights it could be to do with the fact that he was missing, luckily he gets on well with his remaining sister so she shouldn't try to search for him too soon as there are more pressing matters that concern her than searching for her younger brother who for all intensive purposes could of returned to Har Ganeth the City of Executioners...on that though Razyel wondered if he could return to visit his old masters but that was a thought for another time.

As his gaze continued to move around those gathered his cold green eyes settled on Nagar next and his pupils narrowed into a glare, he had heard that his so called sergeant was planning on making alot of money based from the fight Razyel was about to take part in, trying to get the worst odds possible against Razyel which annoyed the Druichii greatly but now was a time to prove to Nagar and everyone here that they should not take him likely but how to throw his opponent off and show he was the greater warrior...Razyel turned his attention back to his opponent and tilted his head to the side before a ever so small smile brushed the sides of his lips under his helmet before he stabbed his sword into the desk and reached up to it.

Grabbing ahold of his helmet he made sure he had the attention of his opponent and anyone else who was watching him as he put his plan in motion, pulling his helmet free he let it clatter to the floor as he adjusted the sash to keep the lower portion of his face hidden so none saw the trademark tear-marks that would identify him as Razyel Karkarin. Razyel could see his opponent was un-impressed as was most of the crowd as they watched the other contestants so Razyel's gauntletted fingers reaches up behind his shoulders and neck and unbuckled the small belts holding his back-plate and chestplate together and rolled his shoulders as they too clattered to the ground, shortly followed by his pauldrons and the armour around his biceps. 

Finally Razyel pulled off the chainmail shirt he wore under his armour and dropped that to the ground aswell so that he was stood bare chested before everyone, the only armour that he wore on the upper portion of his body was on his hands and forearms. Reaching over with his right hand Razyel gripped ahold of his sword and pulled it out of the plank of wood it was thrust into and gave it a few swipes through the air as he mumbled a few prays to Khaine and within moments the fight began as he and his opponent stepped towards each other.

As soon we he was in range Razyel's opponent sent a very lazy and casual swing of his sword towards his bare chest which in response Razyel flicked up his sword and knocked the uncoming blade away before stepping forward whilst pushing his own blades tip towards the gap in the armour between the forearm and bicept of his opponent. To his annoyance Razyel's opponent moved his left hand and took the thrust on his guantlet turning the blade aside before stepping forward and aiming his own thrust towards razyel's exposed chest. Eyes narrowing in annoyance the son of Carielle Karkarin side stepped the blade as his left hand shot out to catch his opponents sword arm by the wrist but the dark elf stopped his thrust just short and retracted his arm before releasing a kick at Razyel's shin.

Razyel in return flick out his own leg and caught his opponents shin with his own before jumping back and gave his sword another quick sweep through the air before deciding to get serious with his opponent, stepping in Razyel flicked out his blade towards his opponents chest and was met with a block from his opponent who had changed to using a too handed grip on his blade which made Razyel tilt his head in curiosity which almost cost him dearly as the dark elf before him started to lash out with blow after blow which forced razyel on the defensive as each attack came quickly after the other. Each time Razyel blocked he was forced to take a step back from the strength of the blows there were three strikes that could of ended the dual and his life had he now thrown himself backwards: The first was a downwards stroke that could of cloven his head in two, the second was a thrust which would of impale his heart and the third was a sideways slash which could of severed his head from his neck but each time Razyel dodged away from his opponent.

After a few more moments Razyel started to see his opponent start to tire from swinging around his sword which gave Razyel his chance to push towards and unleash a barrage of his own unrelenting blows that while they would of killed any mortal or another other dark elf this opponent seemed to block, dodge or parry them all but then against Razyel wasn't using the full amount of his training in this fight and wouldn't just yet. Razyel continued to force his opponent back unto he lashed out with a strike to sever his head and to his annoyance his opponent fell backwards and hit the floor with a clatter of armour, looking down Razyel sat that his opponent had tripped on a discared blade and let out an annoyed sigh before leveling the tip of his blade to his opponents throat and looked up and around at those observing the fight. One person stood out in the crowd and Razyel met this warriors gave with his own, it was none other than the Kinslayer. Eyes burning with hate and rage met those of cool paitence and ice...why was the Kinslayer looking at him though?

Turning his attention back to the fight Razyel looked down at his opponent then back at the crowd knowing that if he ended it now he would win through luck and not skill, turning his head to look at the other fights continueing or coming to their end he looked back down at the dark elf on the ground. "Get up." With that Razyel stalked away from his opponent and stood several strides away while waiting for the dark elf up stand up and retrieve his weapon and once his opponent had Razyel merely stated. "Again" before he raised his sword above his head and gripped the hilt in two hands before moving it slightly behind his head letting anyone smart enough know that he had been trained in Har Ganeth the city of executioners. Now the fight would begin for real.


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Noctavigant*

Hardly had the Kinslayer signalled the beginning that a flurry of blows was hurled in Noctavigant's direction. His eyes widened a little, then narrowed as he focused on blocking the attacks, his opponents sheer fury was lending him a speed he couldn't match and it wasn't long before they had broken apart, some of the blows stopped, but still leaving Noctavigant three down. He cocked his head on one side. It would be frustrating to lose, and unlikely to gain him any advantage.

His opponent was panting, he had clearly drained some energy with his first frenzied attack and was readying himself for another one. He couldn't survive another assault like that. Noctavigant would have to go on the offensive. But how? He was clearly so lost in his madness that he probably wouldn't bother defending, and with his advantage in blows he would easily triumph. The dark elf was panting, sweat pouring down his bare chest and beginning to matt his long hair together in long dark ribbons.

Well it was no use waiting. Noctavigant sprang forward, one hand flicking out to draw the berserker's attention, even so, the elf's other hand shot forward in a punch that would have connected had not Noctavigant caught it with his other hand. The Dark Elf was barely co-ordinated, and that was what he was counted on, if he could be tricked into going for a quick kill, then Noctavigant had a chance. He launched a punch into the elf's face, wincing as the dry, burnt skin crackled and ripped at the contact. His enemy snarled and pistoned his head forwards and Noctavigant went down like a tree, his slight form thudding into the deck. The madman stood above him, blood streaming from a cut above his eye and swaying slightly from the daze the headbutt had put them both into.

Noctavigant struggled to focus, his vision fading in and out as he struggled to surface from the stupor. This was his chance now, he dug his nails into the raw and flaking skin of his palm, the pain sharpening his mind. Now, with only one strike left he had to take his chance, tensing his body as he prepared to sweep the legs from beneath his opponent, not only would it bring him down but it would allow Noctavigant to use the momentum to roll to his feet and strike...


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## Rems (Jun 20, 2011)

Mynerith felt grasping hand about her body, pushing her and levering her up to a standing position even as they pawed about her. Stumbling forward she is pushed vigorously by the crowed, having to hop forward to preserve her balance. 

The hulking slab of an elf stood before her waiting, disgustingly nonchalant. It irked her that this brute had dared laid hands of her, a scion of House Nargonty’r. Worse her victory was in no way assured, she had been over confident and was now paying for it. She could imagine her mother’s sharp tongued scorn even now. 

Her vision cleared, Mynerith slunk forward, wary now. Her opponent came at her again, seeking to drive her into the crowd once more. Aware of her surroundings the she-elf flowed to the side, circling around so her back was to the opposite side of the arena. She was in a difficult position Mynerith realised; there was little room to manoeuvre and her opponent would better her senseless given half a chance. She had the sole advantage of speed and flexibility, but how to use it? 

Rushing forward she delivered a series of sloppy blows, easily blocked, desigtend to fool this brute into thinking her desperate. Seeming to have taken the bait the fool leered, before looming over her and grabbing her wrists in a vice like grip. Pulling forward he broke Mynerith’s balance, pulling her off her feet and into the air, dangling. To complete the deception she went limp, as though having given up. Holding her suspended in the air at arm’s length he, grinning savouring his opportunity and the view. The sun gleamed off pale flesh, slick with sweat.

Looking straight into his dark eyes Mynerith winked with a sly smile as she suddenly delivered a vertical kick, jack knifing her body at the hip. Her heel exploded into the brute chin, knocking his head back and snapping teeth. The stupid fool, obsessed with upper body strength, had forgotten that a true warrior used all her body, legs included. Mynerith’s elation was short lived however as she realised that she was in fact still suspended in the air, her opponent had not let go as she thought he would. 

Instead the large elf spat a bloody gobbet, mixed with bits of tooth to the floor and grinned again. A dark, dangerous smile, promising a lot of pain. Pulling back one arm he sent a thunderous blow straight into Mynerith’s gut, doubling up the female elf. It felt like her organs were attempting to escape through her mouth. It took all her disciple not to retch and instead she dry heaved, bile scorching her throat. Drawing her limp form close he laviscously licked her cheek. 

Dropping his victim to the ground in a heap the brutish elf viciously kicked her, eliciting a moan from Mynerith’s lips. Then instead of delivering his final two strikes needed he turned to the baying crowd, lifting his arms and exhorting in their adulation. His arrogance gave Mynerith the space she desperately needed as she struggled to her feet to resume a fighting stance again. She launched herself at the large elf’s back, hands curled into fists. One more strike was all she needed.


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Myrenith: perhaps it is the gasp of the craze or maybe the sound of your pounding feet upon the ship, or perhaps he is just much faster than you anticipated yet even as you lunge he is already turning ham like hand sweeping round in a devestating strike which catches you across the face and sends you tumbling across the floor, you black out for a second, wake again and then your gone again. You awaken to find him above you on top of you every inch of his body against you groin to yours in an insulting display of sexual domination. You thrash and writhe but your dazed and weakened and he is just too strong for you, a single of his arms binding both your wrists.

he moves his head close to you with a leering smile and with his free hand flicks your nose twice, a thrust of his pelvis sending shudders of revulsion up your spine, even as his victory is scratched on the parchment.

he laughs with perverse pleasure and mutters as he gets off you
"dont worry princess, i prefer women with a little more fight"
You spring to your feet only to be.....
--------------------------------------------
Noctavigent your twisted mind works well and the beserker leaps forth only go down like a tree as you sweep his legs from under him, another slash on your board and a third as the move comes off perfectly and you roll towards him and slam your first into his prostrate gut, his world is torn apart the frenzy lost in confusion, even as you punch the light from his eyes and he lies still.

Well my little deviant your on your way to victory, make your last strike something particularly flaying, lets see what twisted torture you come up with with just your bare hands.

His screams echo around you even as you stand the crowd giving awed gasps and some high pitched laughter, in particular you catch one slender female looking from you to the writhing form of your opponent and big at you with hungry eyes. React to the situation as you will but as you act....

-----------------------------------------
Razyel: As you step back the kinslayers interest wanders to other duels, and you realise that the kinslayers was poised to prevent you from sending the soul of one of his best and brightest to khaine's embrace.

This is beyond your comprehension, the more souls to khaine the better, you have never had to scrounge for followers for your exhibition, always when you crusade young scions of karkarin flock to your banner, families pledge their strongest to you, hoping they can reap some reward from your glory. The differences between you are suddenly apparent even as your opponent regains his feet and his blade a wan glance as he sees your blade suddenly held as the executioners do and he moves into a more defensive stance eyes narrowing.

Your long blade swipes searching for the killing blow yet your opponents style has changed, he seems to move in a more catlike fashion springing away from your strokes pushing inside your gait looking to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. It becomes cat and mouse you pushing, him searching, blade so often a whisker away from drawing blood from your exposed flesh.

Then it comes to a head, your patience seeming to break at the same time as his and as you leap time seems to but does not slow. You see his blade will whip across yours chest the merest whisper before yours rends his head from his shoulders. Yet you are fast, fast enough to block his strike and attack for the weak part of his armour which will be left exposed by the sheer force of your riposte, however he would be too close to get true force behind the blow, aye your blade will rend the skin and draw the blood you need.

A choice is to be made, by killing him you will defy the kinslayer wishes yet you will loose the fight, though your name will be whispered in hushed cornors as the man that bested and killed one of the best, a true swordsman.

Kill or win you decide. 

As you sheeth your sword and turn to replace your armour....

----------------------------------------------------------------
Ellros: The fourth hit touches your shoulder even as you lower your body and slam a fist into his stomach, the opponent stomach buckles yet even as he does so he brings his forehead hard down against the back of your head, whether by accident or design none will know, sending you slamming to the deck your nose spraying blood upon the wooden slats.

Even as you look up dazed and bewildered you see your opponent staggering back arms aloft in victory, the elf holding your placard looking to the kinslayer knife poised.

You realise for a second, if blows with the body count his strike made it 4-3, your punch 4-4, his headbutt 5-4. Irritation pounds through even as you swipe out with your wooden sword to sweep the legs from your opponent rising to plunge a vicious strike into his midriff.

Eyes are turning from around all turning onto the kinslayers muttering and whispering even as you throw your sword away in half disgust and stand watching the kinslayer even as your opponent jumps to his feet half enraged at you half watching the kinslayer

"Victory to team Nagar."snarls the kinslayer and relife pounds through you even as your opponent rushes angrily towards the kinslayer. A brutal if nonchelant twitch of his head and your opponent is on the ground writhing in anguish even as the kinslayer stands over him

"Never assume the battle is done until your opponent is dead"

Your left standing empty handed and victorious before a muttering crowd, a single moment of unease as all eyes fix upon you, the bitter taste of this particular victory settling upon your tongue, before.....

-----------------------------------------------------------
Aradil: 4-1 one yet the kinslayer has heard your shout and suddenly he is bearing down upon you his attention focused soley upon you and only you. Memories of the battle before where you boarded his ship crowing in victory only to find this beast standing in your path the bodies of some of your finest at his feet. If you'd like i would love a flash back, think it would be really nice and dramatic but it is very much up to you.

Either way he says nothing merely holds you in his gaze and suddenly it feels like your battling them both even as your opponent takes advantage of your distraction to lunge for you and you still manage to slip away despite the fact that you cannot take your eyes from the kinslayer. You attack now, even though all use is the very edges of your vision your blood is up and your reactions feel like they are like lightening though perhaps he is just particularly snow. 

End it how you will yet you send your opponent crashing to the ground out cold, the final strike conclusive even as you walk towards the kinslayer and he moves towards you, almost like too lovers but for the burning hatred and contempt in your eyes.

you are inches away from each other when......

--------------------------------------------------------------
Laneran: Even as you close the warrior tries a last ditch gambit springing forward a lancing strike inches from your face, too quick for your vision to see yet he lands on his lame leg and sinks to the ground howling in agony.

He is at your mercy... how do you end the duel, do you end him entirely, do you poor scorn upon him, however you do so make sure you end it.

even as you look up from that final strike your mind jumps as you look up into the crowd to see three faces so like the one you have faced looking at you with empty dead eyes. The one on the left who is almost identical to the one you face except for long lank black hair and sallow skin tilts his head ever so slightly to the left and suddenly the face breaks into an evil smile. You feel an icy cold fill your bones, your stomach writhing and though you do not understand how or why you suddenly feel a force stirring a force you cannot understand or see, its building and your eyes hold upon that smile for a fraction before the sudden silence that has frozen around you splinters with a a great shout (see below everyone portion) and the fear breaks, your eyes moving from the deck to the spot in the crowd where the three men stood to find an empty space.

Your eyes stare in incredulity when your mind registers the contents of the shout....

------------------------------------------------------
Meraxes: She knows she is dead you can see it in her eyes even as you look upon those beautiful features, you can see her head rolling across the floor her body slumping at your feet.

Her voice, the lowest of whispers, her blade lowered catches your ears

"Your mother is dead Meraxes, the seastar has been returned to the ocean from whence she came."

I dont know if it would hit you anywhere emotionally, but it would give you a pause of that I'm sure

In a flash her knife is up and whipping through the air pinwheeling for a moment you think it is going to slam through your eye socket, you can feel the end coming even as you bring your sword up in a vain attempt to deflect it.

It spins away off the armour millimeters above your left eye and she seems to deflate

"Worth a try"

Your on her in a flash your blade rending her to the ground anger and betrayal sweeping through you even as the last vestiges of her life slip through her throat.
"The assassins are coming, Meraxes"

she twitches even as your blade digs deeper anger forcing it further into her slender body

"I am but the messenger"

Her head lolls eyes glassy, golden hair spilling away to reveal the mark of your father branded upon her long slender neck.

You return to your feet, head in turmoil even as.....

---------------------------------------------------------------
Acaman: She is flustered and you begin to attack her once more with lightening speed and she is too slow to block properly, suddenly her sword is out of her hand and she is leaping away casting her shield at you forcing you to roll to avoid it, lashing out only to have her meet you with two long knives just as you bear. It becomes a ferocious battle and though your speed is beyond belief her spatial awareness and coordination is a sight to behold often she is able to angle her knife in just the correct way to catch both your blades as they launch for her and counter with your own.

The battle is at its peak when you change approach to use force instead of speed 3 strong blows sending one of her knives spinning from her hand, victory is yours and your eagerness carries you forward knocking her lunge for your stomach aside to place both knives through her stomach and lowering her gently to the floor as blood seeps over your hands.

she knocks her helm off, knife clattering to the floor and you see the brightest of smiles over her face as she looks into your eyes

"The women always said you were too quick, Acaman." the mockery running through her voice shows she means nothing to do with your swordplay, guess it depends what you call your penis, but still.

"I never believed them til now" yet still the smile resides even as the life slips away

she reaches up gently to carress your neck, the gentle touch of a lover, her hand moving away to wave bloodstained fingers before your eyes

"Fuck you" she snarls even as her lungs spasm and suddenly she is no more. 
Even as the full weight of her words sinks in.....
---------------------------------------------------
(A few notes those of you that lost, i've done it because i dont believe of 10 fights, i dont believe in a 10 nil victory so some have to loose, for the record the unknown npc lost and i haven't decided on nagar because its unimportant, he probably lost though or was on the verge of it before the below. I want to see how some of you react to defeat and various other things, see if we can get any development. Most of the victories have some form of taint upon them, i just don't want you to feel like I'm singling you out for any reason beyond the story, idle curiosity and my own twisted enjoyment. 

Additionally ever post has been left on a poorly worded cliffhanger below is an everyone update, however if you feel you have written enough you are more than welcome to leave it out and use it as part of the next update. ) 


Everyone

A shout breaks your reverie, a scream enhanced by the winds of magic

"Blind fools do you not see the danger that approaches"

Elena stands at the exit to her cabin staff aloft hand cast out to the waters, where once there was but calm ocean a trio of vessels scythe through the water, barely 200 meters away long heads dragonish and filled with malicious intent, one already lines itself up against the other ship in your party, that which bears the wyches and but a few of the men allied to the kinslayer, though most of them are in your midst.

Their is a great howling scream as the wyches see ropes thrown across, the first person attempting to enter their domain.

A crest flutters upon the sail a long sharp talon crossing with an arcing fang, a symbol that all of you would know though not all of you would have seen.

It is the symbol of what is know as The house of beasts. A scattered coalition of several lesser houses under the failing will of Lord Gark. Though many ships bear its mark it is a symbol of little standing or meaning, thought to be the symbol of pirates and brigands that roam the oceans, their Lord unable to control the movement of those that bear his mark. Once known as House Darankun, his ancestors have been known for their unnatural ability with beasts, the head of their house rumoured to be the first elf to tame the many heads of the hydra. They came to acclaim as beastmasters riches filling their coffers for the services and the training they provided other houses. Their money they turned to ships raiding the coasts of the empire, the mighty beasts they brought with them making their house plentiful, they forsoke their name, their fortress upon the coast becoming known as the house of beasts. 

Yet with riches came fools pride and one of the sons of Darankun found his way into the enmity of the witch king, whose wrath was mighty, he crushed the house as an ant beneath his thumb and scattered their fleet across the ocean. So now, ships bearing the mark of the house of beast roam as lawless pirates, small bands forming a law unto themselves.

Brigands they bare nobility no more

Even as his eyes tear from Aradil, the Kinslayer bellows half an order half a roar of fury,the groups around the ships scatters arms casually cast aside snatched into hands, those of you that are armored (Razyelyou can include yourself in this, i think their is enough time for you to pull on the armour you removed) rush to take up defensive positions Acaman and meraxes might be worthing snatching up and returning blades to true owners, any words between you two?)

Those of you unarmoured linger slightly yet even as you hesitate shouts come and weapons are thrown in your direction

Laneran, a long hafted spear slaps into your outstretched palm as a shield clatters at your feet your shouts to their bearers met by deaf ears yet one cry does meet your ears, the man with the lame leg shouts out to you even as he stumbles forward, his leg useless he falls against the mast. What do you do, do you leave him and join the rest, do you care.... your decision will effect whether you join the others or stay in the midst 

Noctavigent: a pair of long thin knives clatter at your feet courtesy of the dark elf warrior that looked at you with such hunger in her eyes yet even as you snatch them up and move to follow her she has already dissappeared in the milling crowd (additionally your updates have been so small recently, i promise you the king of updates next time round)

Aradil: The kinslayers own breast plate drops at your feet and you look up in surprise to find his glare elsewhere, he hates you, yet he offers you protection? A crossbow and quiver of bolts slams into your outstretched hand, but no blade....

Myrenith: A pair of gauntlets land before you along with a single thin blade, whilst an unnattened crossbow that seems to have been dropped in the confusion could be something worth picking up, that being said par the bolt loaded, and two rolling next to it, its not too useful. Your decision...

Ellros: A truly gigantic sword lands in your hand and drops to the floor as the weight surprises you, you snatch it up, taking it in both hands even as a crosswbow and quiver is tossed your way. You need to decide do you use the sword, its sheer size would be more difficult but a crossbow only has 10- 15 bolts, will that give you enough time to find another blade?

Ropes are thrown from the Princes bane and wyches swing down to meet those that set foot upon the ship, blades flashing in their hands, the first upon their ship soon find their blood staining its boards. Yet your attention is diverted suddenly to your own plight.

You stand side by side at the ships edge, nagar in your midst, bruised and battered yet still regal, the giant stands at his side, both still stripped to the waist, both bearing swords in their hands.

Your opponents are now your allies though some obviously are missing the two ships left curl round one sweeping around you, another drawing up alongside, a volley of poorly aimed crossbow shots fleck to plunge harmlessly into the water below.

Amongst you you hear and excited murmor from nagar

"Say your prayers to the Lord of Murder. Battle cometh....."


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## dark angel (Jun 11, 2008)

‘This is madness.’ Meraxes hissed, flexing his dragon-scale talons around the hilt of his borrowed blade, smirking cruelly. ‘Kneel,’ He stepped closer; bringing the unfamiliar blade about in a wide arc. ‘And I shall allow you to retain your vestments of honour.’ 

Saeran, statuesque and alluring, twirled her blade artistically. Her eyes were filled with vehemence now, narrowed distastefully as she padded closer, words erupting from her thick-lipped mouth. 

‘Your mother is dead, Meraxes,’ She chortled, her voice lacking mirth. The smile upon her face was delicious, teeth glittering in the sunlight. ‘The Seastar has been returned to the ocean from whence she came.’ 

‘I grow bored of your falsities, lowborn cur,’ Bellowed Meraxes, his voice tinted with disbelief. His mother was powerful and when she fought, she was a blaze of blade-strikes and high, bone-crunching kicks. ‘You know nothing.’

A moment passed, before something shone brightly; darting through the air towards Meraxes. 

The Scion of Syrax was fast. Acaman’s blade arched up, striking Saeran’s dagger with a metallic clang. It careened off his helm, carving a deep, colourless rent in the expensive metal. 

‘Worth a try.’ Saeran sighed, even as Meraxes launched upon her. He held the blade tight, in a low grip; pushing it upwards. 

It pierced her stomach, carving through unembellished flesh, rich, claret blossoming outwards from the deep, ragged gash. The tip, perfectly articulated, erupted from between her shoulder blades in a fountain of gore. 

‘The assassins are coming Meraxes,’ She gurgled, dribbling her life away. Meraxes twisted the hilt, relishing in the crunch and squelch of organs. ‘I am but the messenger.’

The colour in her eyes dimmed, her pupils dilating. There, neatly tattooed upon her neck, beneath her golden mane - A coiled serpent, crowned and hissing, - The mark of Cymraen. His father. His murderer.

With an invigorated roar, Meraxes yanked his blade free, licking his lips beneath his faceplate. 

Saeran sunk onto her knees, before keeling over, colouring the deck. 

‘Acaman,’ He spoke, turning to the other Dark Elf. He held the bloodied blade between them, head bowed solemnly. ‘I am in your gratitude. You have a fine blade, but I would rather my own, - Now.’


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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

Hestarin tried to stand once more, but his injured ankle would not allow it. Laneran felt a small moment of regret, not that he had harmed the warrior, but that he had let his temper get the better of him. His anger had put too much of his strength behind the motions. He had not meant to break the ankle, only to disable. His moment of contemplation almost lost him the fight, as in an incredible display of fortitude, Hestarin scrambled to his feet, lurched forward in a quick jump step, fist flashing out towards Laneran's face. He caught Hestarin's right arm, pushed it in towards the shoulder, rocking the man off balance. Instinctually Hestarin stepped back to try and keep his footing, right onto the broken foot. He screamed and fell to the ground. 

Leaning down low over his foe, Laneran hissed in his face, _"You are fast Hestarin,"_ he said with scorn in his voice_," but you overcommit."_ To add insult to injury, Laneran smacked Hestarin in the chest with an open hand. He heard the rasp of the charcoal on paper. Hestarin was a fine warrior, but over eager. Still it seemed a shame that he should be lamed like that. Raising to his feet, brushing the dust from his knees, Laneran looked into the crowd. Some reveling in the fact that one had received serious injury, others laughing at Hestarin's weakness. But all of this fell away as Laneran's gaze locked with a set of coal black eyes in the crowd. There standing in front of him was a twin to Hestarin and the man seemed to be trying to flay him alive where he stood. Empty eyes stared at him, dead in their lack of emotion, as if he were trying to convey something to the massive warrior locked in his gaze. Laneran watched impassively as two more faces, just like the other, melted out of the crowd next to his observer, their similarity causing a chiling feeling to creep up his spine. They all looked like Hestarin and if they were relatives he would need to watch his back, a blood fued was not something he need to contend with. Laneran felt unable to break gazes with the man, the sallow skin of his face creased from the evil smile playing across his lips. As the gaze lengthened he felt an icy chill course through is body, as if his blood had turned to ice. His stomach was doing backflips as an unseen force played around his body, his teeth began to grind as the chill turned to pain. Laneran, the man who knew no fear, was stupified in the face of this force, unable to break his gaze or move his body. All that he could see was the evil smile of the man before him, it filled his vision to its extremes. Then the trance was broken, a great shout of fear and vengence permeating the chill veil around him. Looking into the crowd for the group of druchii, he was unsurprised to find the space they had occupied empty. He would need to watch his back indeed. 

_"Blind fools do you not see the danger that approaches,"_ a scream, one amplified by magic, echoed around the ship forcing all to quiet. Laneran looked up to find Elena, an elegant finger pointed out over the waves, the wind whipping her long hair and clothing around her. Following her slender arm and finger, tossing his gaze in the direction she pointed, Laneran saw three vessels, sails whipping in the wind, closing fast. One of the ships had already come alongside one of the ships in the Kinslayer's convoy, and with a scream to Khaine the wyches aboard that vessel met the raiders head on.

As the ships approached, Laneran could see that the crest emblazoned upon them was the talon and fang of The House of Beasts. Many times as a Corsair Laneran had crossed pathes with these bloodthirsty pirates, each exchange bloodier than the last. He held nothing for contempt for the servants of Lord Gark and he eyes blazed with bloodlust and anticipation for the coming fight. His only wish was that he had his blades and armor to meet them head on.

He barely caught the whistle of something passing through the air toward him and he raised his hand. The haft of a spear slapped into his open palm, just as a shield, barely large enough to cover his torso, clattered to the deck at his feet. Laneran watched as the back of the man who supplied them disappeared into the ranks of warriors, whatever it was he turned to say lost in the cacophony of noise that grew out of the massive ship preparing for battle. He lunged forward, ready to follow the man into the ranks of warriors lining the sides of the ship, only to be halted in his steps by a cry from behind him. Hestarin, lame leg stretched out in front of him, had hauled himself to the main mast, back propped up against the heavy tower of wood, completely defenseless. It would be dishonorable to let the man die in such a fashion. After all it was his actions that had lamed the fighter, just at the outset of true battle. 

Twirling his spear so it rested comfortably in the crook of his right arm, the meager shield strapped to his left, he walked stoicly back to his former opponents side. Staring down at him Laneran said with a half-smile, "bite any one who gets behind me." With that, he planted the butt of his spear in the deck, rolled his shoulders in preparation, and waited for the fight to come to him.


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Muscles tightening and relaxing as the deck flows to the steady rhythm of the sea itself along with the other fights around him Aradril keeps his eyes focused on his opponent. Seeing movement from his right side Aradril turns towards it as the Kinslayer starts bearing down on him Cerak's attention solely on Aradril. His focus upon Cerak as he advances Aradril's arms slowly sink as he recalls the first time he laid eyes on the Druuchii advancing towards him.

Crowing words of victory to his men and oaths of death to the foes he has fought as Captain first and now Warrior Aradril bounds over the railings of both ships landing amidst a scene of carnage. A powerful Elf was removing his sword from the head of Okois while the bodies of Lebka, Beron and Tonallel already lay at his feet blood pooling around them from the devastating blows that ended their lives. At a loss as to how he had accomplished this without taking any serious wounds himself had a profound shock on him as he adopted his favored defensive stance, turned sideways crouched with his feet shoulder width apart while bringing his shield up to cover his vital areas as he puts his spear level with his left arm bracing for the attacks of the beast of an elf. 

Swinging his around his body from the right Aradril takes the first blow upon his shield and nearly loses his feet at the sheer strength of his opponent. Abandoning his attack Aradril flicks his spear out rapidly forcing some room to regain balance and get a better look at who he faces. Eyes frantically roving over him Aradril recognizes the crest at the throat as one belonging to the House Kinslayer. Watching carefully as the Kinslayer man approached before leaping to attack Aradril side steps right then backs a pace as he had not anticipated the speed of his opponent either. Feeling the ships rail press into his back armour Aradril waits for him to attack again before stepping into the blow bringing it crashing into the rail as Aradril sent his spear straight at his opponents face. However before the blow landed completely Aradril's opponent grabbed the haft of his spear. Yanking suddenly Aradril is off balance as he connects with a vicious kick to his side that forces Aradril to drop his spear and roll several times to avoid any follow ups. 

Regaining his feet Aradril yanks his sword out of it's sheath breath coming in ragged gasps in both exhaustion and fear of the Druuchii before him. Leaping to the attack Aradril swings his sword aiming for the Druuchii's left arm aimed to injure and impede rather than outright kill. As the other parries it Aradril lashes out with the rim of his shield knocking the elf's head back, along with taking his helmet off revealing the elf to be Cerak himself. As Cerak turned to look him in his eyes..

a body came from his right side as Aradril shakes off the memory off fighting Cerak. Simply turning his body and wrencing hid opponents arm off he turns back to face the Kinslayer..

as his sword comes down and breaks his shield along with his forearm. Falling to his knees Aradril looks up as his sword comes down yet again..

he can not look away from Cerak as his opponent keeps trying to hit back but seems so very slow. Every movement telegraphed and easily dodged or blocked as Aradril's attention is focused upon the Kinslayer himself..

rolling to the right and ignoring the pain from his left arm Aradril springs up and lunges forward at Cerak's unhelmed face. As the sword was about to pierce his flesh Cerak swung his sword up to parry it..

watching his opponent charge yet again Aradrilsteps forawrd into the attack cutting it off before it was ready and slamming his left elbow into the man's broken nose sending him down and out..

losing his sword to the blistering counter attack Aradril drops to his knees yet again and surrenders as Cerak's blade dug slitghly into his neck.

Blinking his eyes and shaking his head Aradril focuses on the present once more and leaves the past behing him. Seeing the Kinslayer approach him he walks towards him as well hatred and anger burning through his eyes. As they walked closer to each other Aradril continued to stare at the Kinslayer he notices some elves looking at them but pays no notice to what they say. 

(ooc thought i'd try something different with the flashback.)


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## Jackinator (Nov 18, 2008)

*Noctavigant*

There was a thud as the dark elf hit the floor, Noctavigant taking his chance to roll forwards and land a heavy blow in the prone warrior's midriff. He flinched at the blow, only to meet a fist coming the other way and with that blow the light of consciousness fled from his eyes.

Noctavigant stood, slowly, blood slicked his skin where the sensitive and burnt tissue had torn and ripped at the rough blows. He gazed in passive interest at the prone elf. Before kneeling beside him. He caressed his face, nails, tracing the curve of his jaw, the line of his nose, before moving to his eye lid, and with a careful slitting motion and a swift tug, pulling it off. He did the same with the other, by now his opponent was awake and screaming, but not as loudly as he did when Noctavigant poured the saltwater in his eyes.

He cocked his head curiously for a moment, then, losing interest, stood to study the crowd. One caught his eye however, gazing hungrily at the writhing form of his erstwhile opponent before staring at him with large, shapely eyes.

Before he could do anything else however, "Blind fools do you not see the danger that approaches". Elena's scream of fury cut through the clamour, he turned to follow her pointing finger. A trio of vessels approached, at their masts fluttered the flag of The House of Beasts. They were most definitely not friendly.

In the chaos that followed Corsairs rushed to repel boarders. The dark elf he had spotted observing him tossed a pair of daggers at his feet. He stopped to retrieve them, but by the time he had straightened again, she had disappeared into the press. Armed now, he prepared for the inevitable attack...


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## revan4559 (Aug 9, 2010)

Razyel watches as the Kinslayer turns away and narrows his eyes in annoyance as he realizes that he only wished to stop Razyel from killing one of his warriors, a warrior whose soul would be better sent to Khaine's embrace and fight on in the afterlife then stay here in the mortal world. Moving away Razyel shifts into his executioner stance and watches as his opponent reacts by moving his stance into a more defensive position clearly weary that someone so young like Razyel would be one of those trained at City of Executioners. Stepping forward towards his opponent Razyel brings his blade in a sweeping arc to test his opponent once more and finds that while he is now starting to use his full training as an executioner it appears his opponent has had some dealing with this form of fighting before as he starts to spring out of the way shifting from using blocking as his main defence to dodging.

For the next few mintues Razyel keeps his blade moving just like he was taught all those years ago so that as his blade is in constant movement it means he has some form of defense as he then wouldn't have to stop his heavy blade mid-swing to change direction to block an attack from his opponent and as he followers his opponent around the deck of the ship he starts to become annoyed that he keeps managing to either block his sweeping strikes or dodge out of the way just when he needs to. After several more clashes of their blades it appears that Razyel's and his opponents paitence snap at the same time as they leap towards each other with Razyel being a fraction slower allowing him to alter the path of his blade and deflect a blow that would of severed his head from his shoulders but with this slightly slower reaction it meant that he couldn't bring his blade around for a full strike.

Jumping back from his opponent Razyel shifts the position of his sword and leaps forward once again aiming the point for the gap between his opponents helmet and chestplate but in doing so he allowed his opponent to bring his sword around and carve a thin red line across his bare chest from which small trails of blood run down towards the floor of the deck. Razyel had lost the challenge to first blood but it was never his intention to win and keep Nagar happy, no his intention was to kill in the name of Khaine and greatly annoy the Kinslayer in the process and Razyel watched his opponents eyes widden in surprise and pain as he realized all to late that the tip of Razyel's sword had passed under his helmet and straight through his throat which then burst out the back of his neck in a shower of blood. Listening to the gulping noises his opponent made thanks to the several inches of steel now protruding through his neck Razyel pulled his blade free in another shower of blood this time coating himself before pivoting on the spot and bringing his blade around in a sweeping arc and this time fully relieved his opponents shoulders of his head. 

Coming to a stop Razyel watched the body of his opponent pitch backwards and slam into the wooden deck with an audiable clang of armour before looking down at the severed head now resting at his feet as the helmet was several feet away. Reaching down Razyel gripped the long hair of his now deceased opponent and straightened it until he had a good enough length to make some improvised rope and tied the grizzly trophy to his belt before walking away from the corpse he had just created ignoring the shouts, curses, cheers and glares he was receiving from both Nagar and the Kinslayer. Returning to his armour Razyel picks up his chainmail shirt and puts it on while readjusting his scarf to make sure it keeps his face hidden before putting on the rest of his armour before looking around at the gathered ground and wondering what they now think of him but Razyel's thoughts are broken by his sister using her powers to scream at all of them saying they are all fools and do not notice the danger.

Looking around Razyel grips his blade handle tighter and seems corsairs jumping over the end and start to attack those that are nearby which in the confusion Razyel merely stands there and observes before looking to see what Nagar and the rest of his little group are doing. Seeing that they are gathering to meet the attack Razyel lets out a sigh and marches forward to stand beside Nagar and flicks his gave other the ancient sergeant "I hope this proves more interesting then my so called opponent.".


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

The blade met Ellros shoulder as expected as he leapt forward to get inside his opponents defence, his opponent grinning in anticipation of victory. Ellros kept his snarl on his face, his body low and he slammed a fist into the stomach of his opponent, triumphantly. He grinned as his opponent started to double up, obviously winded by his strike, but then something amazing and frustrating happened at the same time.

As his opponent doubled up, his forehead, whether by accident or deliberately, came down hard down against the back of Ellros head. Ellros was sent slamming down onto the deck, blood pouring from his nose as he hit the deck. Ellros was not worried about his nose, having been in tavern fights before and altercations on the deck of the Kinslayers ship he was used to pain.

Ellros looked up, dazed and bewildered, his head pounding to see his opponent, staggering back to an upright position arms aloft in victory, the elf holding Ellros's placard looking to the kinslayer knife poised.

Ellros snarled as he realized that his strike that would win him the gain just cost him it, if his punch had counted, as well the headbutt. That made it 5-4 to his opponent meaning he had lost. Cheers rained down as elves who had bet on his opponent taunted both him and those that had bet upon him, as well as jeers from those that had supported him.

Ellros grabbed a hold of his sword, and struck his opponent in the back of the leg, knocking him over. He was frustrated and angry, and as such he stood, before he plunged his sword down in a vicious strike into his midriff.

Ellros stood once more, the cheers and jeers dying down as the crowd looked uncertaintly at the Kinslayer, Ellros throwing his sword away to oneside, hearing it clatter across the deck. Ellros's opponent stood, moving quickly to Ellros's side, obviously incredibly pissed off with what had happened.

"Victory to team Nagar."snarls the kinslayer, Ellros feeling relief as the Kinslayer voted in his favour, obviously satisfied with Ellros's reaction to being headbutted. However his opponent wasn't as pleased by this and rushed towards the Kinslayer, a bold and terribly stupid move. The Kinslayer had him on the ground within a second and stood over the writhing Dark Elf.

"Never assume the battle is done until your opponent is dead"

Ellros couldn't savour his victory, he couldn't collect his gold yet. The ship sprang into life as several ships attacked the great Kinslayers ship, and Ellros was chucked a weapon, a huge long sword which he wouldn't be able to control properly and a crossbow. He chucked the sword down the line to someone else who needed a weapon, hoping to use the crossbow until he found something better.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

She was flustered and Acaman knew it. He leapt forward, tired of the game. She was brilliant, he was extraordinary. He knocked her sword with a side kick before rolling to dodge her thrown shield as he leapt back away from him. He lashed out only for her too meet his blades with 2 of her own knives. Now it was getting interesting. Where as before it had been a minor test of his skills to first blood now it was a full on fight to the death. Despite himself Acaman was smiling and a laugh even escaped his lips once. An insane laugh that revealed the truly cruel side of him that few lived to see for more than a few seconds. For a split second he felt the eyes of every Druchii in the crowd focus on him as he howled his mirth to the sky as he and Merilwen danced the dance of death. “Khaine wishes blood this day,” he spoke to Merilwen as she circled him. He paused as he saw her muscles tense. “Your blood!” he shouted and hurled himself at her.

She kept her guard low, expecting him to use his speed as he usually did but this time he changed tact. 3 Huge blows sent one of her daggers clattering to the floor and shock showed in her eyes as he slid past her guard like liquid and plunged his daggers to the hilt in her stomach. He lowered her gently to the floor as her blood seeped onto his hands from the mortal wound. She knocked her helmet off with one hand, dropping her dagger as she did so. Beneath the steel her face was bloodless and her eyes filled with pain though bright. She smiled, the brightest of smiles as she gazed into his icy blue eyes. "The women always said you were too quick, Acaman." the mockery running through her voice suggested she did not mean his sword play.

“I never believed them till now,” she said quietly, the smile remaining even as her sight faded. She reached up and caressed his neck gently, the gentle touch of a lover before waving her hand before his eyes, a hand covered in her own crimson blood. Suddenly her beautiful face twisted in an expression of hate as she snarled “Fuck you.” Even as she spoke her lungs went into a spasm and her eyes glazed over. He gently shut the lids before standing, sliding his daggers free of her stomach. The full weight of her words began to sink in but before they could do so a shout echoed through the ship, a shout enhanced by the winds of magic.

"Blind fools do you not see the danger that approaches.” It was the sorceress, Elena, who stood at the entrance of her cabin gesturing out to sea with her staff. Acaman whirled to see a trio of vessels scything through the water towards them. His eyes picked out the symbol on the sail of the leading vessel. A long sharp talon crossing with an arcing fang. Acaman made the symbol of Khaine over his heart as he recognized it. The House of Beasts. A scattered coalition of several lesser houses under the failing will of Lord Gark. Once a rich and powerful noble house that was rumoured to have tamed the very first hydra.

Brigands, they bore nobility no longer…

The Kinslayer bellowed with rage and every Druchii on the ship sprang into action. Acaman heard Meraxes speak and he turned to see his fellow Druchii holding out his sword and caught his last words “…You have a fine blade, but I would rather my own, - Now.” Acaman saw Meraxes blade on the floor at his feet and hooked his foot under it before flipping the sword up and grasping it by the hilt. He held it out to Meraxes and the 2 exchanged blades swiftly. Acaman did not bother with words, only a simple nod.

They moved to form a group, ready to defend their ship from the foe. Acaman stood ready with sword held low in his right hand and a dagger in his right. He slipped the vial of Mansbane from his pocket and let a few drops trickle out onto a small cloth which he then wiped down the blade. Amongst the excited murmurings and screams of hate from the wyches Acaman heard Nagar say “Say your prayers to the Lord of Murder. Battle cometh....."


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## deathbringer (Feb 19, 2009)

Poised upon battle a certain restless energy descends over the two crews even as the ships begin to pull up alongside, the sheer size of the Princes Bane suddenly thrown into context seeming suddenly impregnable. A good 12 feet above the smaller galleon, crossbow bolts that would have torn out throats scatter of the very edge of the hull ropes that would have stuck fast rebound away or are easily dislodged, stalling your enemies progress, even as they linger 10-20 meters away and 12 feet below.


After the moment of tension, the raid suddenly seems almost comical several of the warriors next you and even I'm sure amongst you letting loose a hail of abuse and gestures as the warriors scurry around below you, the unplanned hitch causing a wave of activity amongst both side. Upon the enemy ship men dissappear sails billowing even as the crew scurry for cover, others desperately working to escape the trap their opportunist raid has suddenly landed themselves in.

The hitch allows you to form up, those of you fully armoured (meraxes, razyel, Acaman) pulling out your crossbows along with several others along the deck to hammer a single volley of shots into the massing warriors, even as they scurry below deck to find some cover from the onsalught to come. Acaman your shot tears out a throat leaving a bloodied corpse that stumbles and topples out of sight amongst the slaves below deck. whilst meraxes bolt twangs off armor as the warrior he aimed at turns unexpectedly, razyel's embedding in a mans left thigh. 

*Those of you with crossows already out but are unarmoured* also have the opportunity to twang off three shots, 1 wound, 1 miss, 1 kill seperate or same opponent is up to you however remember your bolts are more limited than the others, your armour lying below decks, this is thus your choice if you shoot or not.

Even as ropes latch into the wood below you and their is a great groan as several burly elves heave the ropes towards the mast to tie them steady, holding the boat in place like a gazelle trapped beneath a rock even as the lions prowl. Several men are already halfway down, blades in hand a great woop of triumph. 

On your side the giants hurls a rope with a bitter curse, locking solidly into place even as he and Nagar lend their weight to pull it to the nearest mast, a neat knot holding it strong. Several of you lunge for the rope but Nagar is their first sliding down, blade in hand to slice through the neck of an elf that rushes to meet him followed by Myrenith, Acaman, Ellros and Razyel, sliding down the rope with ease you land upon the deck to join nagar, feel free to engage your initial opponent and cut him down in whatever brutal fashion takes your fancy, though he is little more than a ship hand with a knife or some other form of weapon.

Even as you engage and the rest of you jostle for position to board the bastards and join the frey behind you on the otherside of the ship you hear someone call out in a low guttural language, words you don't understand but still manage to light fire down the back of your necks a seering wave of heat that you cant quite understand making your brows furrow until you turn around and find that the sails of the top of the central mast are aflame. 

*Those upon the marauders boat*


Myrenith, Acaman, Ellros and Razyel, upon the boat, you are transfixed for a moment, but the bursting flames are the least of your worries, as trap doors spring open on both sides of the ship and fully clad dark elf warriors spring from the hatches all along the ship. 

Suddenly you are caught in the middle, between two thin lines of dark elves, organised and armoured swords glinting like the teeth of sharks, almost in unison several of the swords flick and the ropes are torn asunder and suddenly your floating slipping away from the princes bane. Stranded and alone even as the lines thicken and more warriors push up the steps. Yet you are no alone, several squads some in full and some in part had pushed in eagerness to expunge the threat, the Kinslayer, his son and three of his bodyguard amongst them. 

Other squads make for the kinslayer yet before you can begin to do the same, the warriors are moving charging, clad in light armour bearing shields and swords they move with stealthy efficiency confident, a lethal stamina about their movements. Normally you wouldnt be worried but several of you are bare chested and poorly armed. 8 of the warriors move for you 5 even as the rest flow around you the targets picking you out with calculating consideration. Two move for Razyel, two for Acaman and two for Nagar, whilst one moves to the rest of you, evidently a calculated ploy to ensure the odds are stacked greatly in their favour.

Kill them,

I'm making this a one post kill, however I want some description, I want each person you kill to take a wound before you finish them, i want some form of close shave or scrape from you, and In general I'd like a little bit of showmanship, cut loose a little bit, really try and open up the description, ride on impulse see what happens, really just lets see what we can get going.

Your all good writers, open up the throttle and see what you can give.

Ellros Just as an addition as your duelling with your opponent even as you slip your blade into his flesh, he lets out a dying snarl and headbutts you in the face sending you spralling backwards, yet even as you roll you feel yourself falling, descending through air, a tremendous thud and you fall into blackness.

__________________________________________________________

The princes bane

Meraxes, Noctavigent and Aradril stranded on the prices bane, you can almost taste the acrid tang of sorcery in the air, others around you rush to water barrels, filling helms with water to throw upon the sail. Elena sweeps through the fray pushing the waterbearers aside, a slash of her staff and the flames are gone and she lets out a roar of challenge that seems beyond human, beyond even the realms of mortality.

Over the top of the boat rises a second woman, tall gaunt but beautiful beyond belief, striking features and lock black hair, she hovers feet about the deck, a great staff of scorched iron raised in her left hand, she sweeps across with her right, and the warriors defending the opposite side of the boat fall like dominoes, just as one of them screams "Ladders."

In that single moment you see hooks appear, holding the boatseconds later faces appears over the side of the boat, skipping over the side, plunging knives into bodies as they begin to writhe. Your already moving before the giant even commands you, a blurred human shape flashes across your vision, a second and a third cutting your vision even as you sprint, the fourth catches Aradril straight in the midriff, sending the shape and your comrade sprawling to the floor with a low yelp of pain.

Aradril, even as you rise waving any comrade who may have stopped to aid you on with a low grown stand even as the small shape unfurls from what you first believed to be a cloak but you now see are great twisted wings, blackened and darkened. The harpy (would love a little invention on its physical description) lets out a howling screech that freezes the blood in your bones yet even as you flash a bolt towards it it swores away, high circling for another attack. You need to be inventive, you've only got a crossbow and a buckler, i want it to swing round and you take a wound from it as it dives, not necessarily serious but something about the way it comes at you shows how you can knock it out the air. Knock it out the air and finish it, as above description is key, hit me with your best mate, i dont think we're into second gear yet, though i loved the flashback. Keep it going.

Meraxes You sweep onwards even as aradril makes contact with harpy and you split from Noctavigent and the giant quickly, your eyes locking on a dark elf who struggles to rise even as one of your enemies looms with blade in hand. A drop kick should prevent the death and send them crashing back down. Even as others rise you see another warrior with a knife through the head of a man that is clearly the squads sergeant. The squad seem bemused, demoralized, shocked by the sudden death and the near miss, a short confrontation stops him from ending another life, yet even them some have risen, more are pouring over ladders and across ropes, and still some seem weakened and listless by the sorceress's enchantment.

What are you meraxes, are you a leader of men, do you have that strength? Do you encourage or drive or rule through fear? Give us an insight, get the men up, you can kill another 2 enemies for emphasis if needed, leave it open ended and ill decide whether the men get up or not.

Noctavigent

Even as you pass Aradril you eyes slip too Elena, so like the sister you failed, even as the sorceress meets the icy maiden of such harrowing beauty. Power surrounds them warped energies crashing off shields even as their staffs crack together in fountains of deep blue sparks. They are engrossed upon one another entirely consumed by the hatred in eachothers eyes yet around them the pressure is building upon the forces of the kinslayer beginning to flag slightly as more and more press onto the boat and one is pushing towards Elena with elegant purpose. Yet she is consumed even as he draws a knife and raises it high. 

Suddenly she isn't Elena, she is Ayita but no, she is a vision of all your hopes and dreams, no she is a vision of all your failures, all your self doubts, no, she is, she must be.

Your limbs are moving, sprinting for absolution and you take then knife in the chest, describe the pain the agony, but also the relief of salvation from your guilt, you have protected a karkarin as you were meant to, it matters not, even as the knife digs deep into your flesh and anger flares, the madness that dwells within you unleashing. Noctavigant to me is a complete madman on the precipice of sanity, i want him to descend into madness, really cut loose jack, if you want to kill him with your bare hands thats fine by me. Try and get into the madman and see what happens, either way your post will end with sanity and calm, elena is still duelling, now its your turn to attack the sorceress. Do you attack from the front, side or try and get behind her, leave that open ended, their are consequences to every plan. 

Lanaeran:You stand before Hestarin set even as the main mast springs to flame above you, a crackling backdrop for your defence even as Elena strides past you and battle is joined, power flowing between the two, you remain close to your charge, watching the battle feeling frustration flow, eagerness to join, to aid Elena, to enter the fray around the sorcerors yet you are a rock. It feels like hours, yet it is mere minutes truly before you hear hestarin scream a warning. You twist around only to lean back preventing the cut from severing your throat by a hairsbreath, a second scream and you hear a thump. Hestarin is lying prostrate across a second figure, his fists pumelling with solid fury yet suddenly the first is out of view, the second rolling from hestarin's grip to dissapear out of the cornor your vision and you wheel.

suddenly you recognise these people even as they skim the peripheral of your vision the 2 evolving into 3.

Shades, clad in dark purple, they are scouts without compare lithe shadows and tricksters and you are put one man defending the wounded. You force hestarin to his feet shuffling away from the action even as the scouts lunge and you push away thrust after thrust, desperate to find something solid to put your back to, yet they seem to be hearding you. Only one ever in view at one time, feet so silent, its like they meld from the mist,striking forcing you to deflect.

Yet there is something else, they are not a unit, each attacks on his own accord seeking the glory for himself not for the good of all. Thump, the officers cabin entrance is at your back and you wrestle hestarin inside with a thump, to find yourself in a narrow hallway with bunk beds at either side. You slam the door shut eliciting a cry of agony and lending yourself a little respite to set yourself before 2 shades burst in, describe the fight and kill the 2 shades that enter in yet even as you withdraw your spear and raise your shield you rise to find a shade with a repaeater crossbow closing the door behind him, a repeater crossbow aimed at your face from mere inches away.

Respond to the new situation 

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## Midge913 (Oct 21, 2010)

He stood stock still, letting none of the restless energy of the crew draw his attention away from his task. Laneran's eye were fixated on the pirates vessel, its motely crew standing, sneering, weapons bared. He permitted himself a small smile as the mercenaries of the Lord Gard attempted their crossbows and hull ropes, only to have their missiles rebound off the side of the vastly larger Prince's Bane. Laneran, from his position near the main mast could hear the Kinslayers crew shouting jeering insults at the would be raiders, though their bravado was short lived. All to soon ropes and hooks flew again from both sides, and in no time the battle was joined in earnest as the two crews began to scuttle down the ropes, fighting for their lives above the open sea or dropping the deck of their opposing vessel. 

On the wind, carrying over the sounds of shouts and combat, Laneran heard a voice crying out strange words and syllables unfamiliar and harsh to his ears. He could feel the charge of magic in the air and seconds later a roaring cloud of heat and flame rushed forth from the enemy vessel, lighting the main mast and several sails of the Prince's Bane aflame. The heat was intense, but the stoic Laneran refused to give his position. He watched in horror as a sorceress, for she could be nothing else, hovering above the deck of the Kinslayers vessel, raven black hair whipping in streamers around her gaunt but captivating face. The storched black iron staff she wielded in her raised left hand spelling death for several of the Kinslayers warriors as with a wave and a word several of them fell dead to the deck at her command. 

No sooner had the flames erupted than they went out again and Laneran heard Elena, poised and arrogant, striding across the deck to meet the enemy sorceress and in no time the air around them erupted in untamed arcane might. An acrid stench upon the air, as the two beguiling women plied their art against the other. It was only then, watching Elena, the Laneran felt the chaffing frustration of his inactivity. He longed to join the combat, to feel the enemies blood upon his hands. He patience was finally rewarded when a cry from Hestarin drew his attention in the man's direction. He almost missed the whistle of the blade aimed at his throat, but in the last second he was able to dart aside, swirling the butt of his spear around to deflect the weapon, his parry resulting in a grunt of pain as the heavy oak of the spear haft connected with the fragile bones of the swordsman's fingers. But as he turned to engage his opponent he found none. The swordsman had disappeared into the smokey haze and confusion of battle. Turning he saw that Hestarin, despite his injury, had brought an opponent low, and was beating him in the face, head, and neck with his fists. Laneran just caught a flash of dark purple as Hestarin's attacker somehow managed to break free, disappearing as the first had. 

"Cowardly Shades!" Laneran cursed, deflecting a lightning fast strike from one of the lithe scouts, pushing back hard with his shield sending the culprit flying away from him. He heard the elf land with a heavy thud, but when he scanned the area the Shade was no where to be seen. The motion again in the corner of his vision, caused him to turn, spear twirling in front of his body to deflect another strike, from another unseen opponent. Now from the right, again his shield made contact with a blade, its wielder vanishing even as Laneran thrust his spear in the direction the assault had come from. Hestarin cried out a warning, and he spun to face the wounded man swing the blade of his spear in an arc causing a third Shade to dart back to avoid the blade, disappearing before Laneran could follow up. This would never work. 

He rushed to Hestarin's side. "clasp your arms around my neck and dont fall off," he said the the smaller man, hefting him onto his back drawing a grunt of agony from the wounded elf. His weight slowed the massive elf down, but to Laneran it was but a small hinderance. He slowly made his way back to the aft sections of the ship, working his way to the wall of the cabins located there. The shades darted in and out, blades flickering like serpents tounges, but his reach with his spear, and his heavy shield kept all but a few striked from him. He was thankful for the fact that the Shades seemed to be competeing with each other as much as trying to overcome him. Had they been working in concert he probably would have fallen to their blades. He didn't know why he felt such a need to bring Hestarin through the conflict, other than he respected him as a warrior. His skills matching Laneran's, he refused to allow the Kinslayer's contingent to needless lose a fighter that may be needed. Perhaps, this ordeal would gain him an ally. 

Finally, bleeding from a half a dozen small cuts, Laneran made it to the officer's cabin and he pushed the door open, finding himself in a narrow hallway, the walls lined in shallow bunks on either side. He kicked the door closed with his foot, revelling in the fact that there was a cry of pain as the heavy oak door slammed into one of his pursuers. Letting Hestarin down onto on of the bunks, none to gently in his hurry, he had enough time to right himself as two Shades burst through the door. "Now you cowards, there are now shadows for you to hide in and nowhere for you to run." He roared out his challenge and flung himslef in their direction. 

His charge caught them by surprise and he smiled as he connected with the first Shades face with the flat of his shield. There was a sickening crunch of bone as the smaller elf was lifted from his feet, slamming into the wall and then to the floor where he lay unmoving. Before the second could react to his companions plight Laneran sent a flurry of jabbing strikes at the elf with his spear, the air singing from the speed and power with which he attacked. To the Shades credit he was a hell of a swordsman, parrying, riposting with skill and speed that Laneran matched with ferocity and strength. Dancing back and forth in the confined space Laneran watched for an opening in his opponents technique and was at last rewarded. He danced backwards just as the Shade lunged, causing the nimble swordsman to over extend. Bringing the haft of his spear around he slammed the heavy oak into the elf's side and he heard ribs break. As the shade doubled over, Laneran struck out again with the spear haft, shattering the Shades left knee in with a sickening pop, and following through with the momentum of the strike knocked his opponents right leg out from under him. The Shade struck the ground, hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs, and in an instant Laneran was over him, lips peeled back in a feral snarl of victory as he skewered the prostrate Shade through with his spear, the blade making a dull thunking noise as it passed into the wooden deck below. Laneran watched as the light of life left the Shade's eyes, and with a grunt of effort pulled his spear free. He turned toward the door, hoping to get the drop on the third Shade only to be met with the point of a crossbow bolt, mere inches away from his face, the cold grey eyes of the Shade wielding it boring into him from behind the Reaper crossbow's stock. There was nothing for it but to act.

Swinging his shield up, he tried to bat the ranged weapon aside as he sent his spear questing for the man's heart.


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## Lord Ramo (Apr 12, 2009)

Ellros took his place in line with his fellow squad members, crossbow already loaded with a bolt as he showed he was ready to take the life of one of these foolish raiders. He wasn't the best marksman, just like he wasn't the finest swordsman that the Kinslayer had at his disposal, he knew that, but he was confident that the deck would be so crowded he would be able to hit at least one person even if he missed the rest. 

As the small galleon pulled up alongside the Princess Bane it became apparent how woefully stupid the raiders had been. The galleon was a good 12 feet below the Princess Bane, and the crossbow bolts that had been fired at the defenders bounced harmlessly away from the hull. Ellros could hear all along the line his fellow warriors jeering and taunting the raiders and in a flash he decided to join them. He leapt up so he was standing on the rail and bellowed down *"Can you hit me now?"* 

Warriors along the line drew their crossbows and fired on those below, Ellros joining them even though he only had a few shots. He aimed for a crew member who was loading a crossbow of his own, frantically pulling the string back so he could fire. Ellros lined up his shot and fired, catching the man in the hand causing him to cry out and drop the crossbow. Ellros quickly reloaded firing at the same target and missing, cursing as he didn't take enough time for the kill shot.

On his third attempt he killed the man, bolt slamming into his throat and impaling him into the wooden deck, Ellros letting out a whoop as the man died. Ropes were being hurled onto the ship below as the Kinslayer and his men saw that they had their opponents trapped and would kill them easily. Ellros readied himself to go across, caught in a bloodlust that had seen him kill the elf on the other ship.

Nagar and the Giant he had fought secured a rope to the mast before leaping down, being followed quickly by Ellros and other members of his squad. They landed on the boat, ready to kill, Ellros looking around for a target to shoot at. However before he could really even blink trap doors on the deck flew open, and warriors clad in full armour leapt from them, cutting the ropes that they had flown in on.

Ellros began to feel a little worried now, the only thing that kept him from jumping overboard now was the Kinslayer. He his son and three of his guard as well as several squads had also come across, and he was confident they would win with the Kinslayer there. Before he or the rest of his own squad could move to the Kinslayer the warriors rushed towards them, lightly armoured and very, very fast. 

Ellros as he wasn't in any armour, and was armed with only a crossbow, found himself dueling with a single elf, mercifully the raiders prioritized the armored elves as the ones to take down first allowing him time to figure a way out. 

The elf that rushed at him was lightly armoured and carried a blade and a shield, whilst Ellros only had his crossbow and some crossbow bolts. Ellros quickly fired the bolt he had already loaded onto the onrushing target, causing him to raise his shield which the bolt struck, going through and causing his opponent to throw his shield away.

He ducked as his opponent aimed a vicious strike at his head, and head to move his body to the side as he opponent brought his blade in a downward sweep incredibly quick. Ellros cursed, he wasn't that fast, he was lucky that his opponent was overly confident that he could take Ellros down easily that he could read the attacks his opponent was going to make, but it was still close.

Ellros brought his crossbow up to block another swipe of the sword, luckily it didn't break, it was his lifeline at the moment. For a moment he cursed himself for throwing away the huge sword he had been handed, it would have come in very good use here. His opponent confidently stepped forward, lunging with his blade towards Ellros's unarmoured chest. Ellros pivoted, and stepped forward, past the blade though it did catch his left arm as he did so, causing blood to be drawn and for him to wince in pain. 

He found himself off balance, and had to duck underneath his opponents confident swipe at his head, hitting out with his crossbow into his opponents midriff. It knocked his opponent back a step, allowing Ellros to pull out another crossbow bolt, which he held like a knife. His crossbow couldn't kill his opponent so he would stab him to death.

He leapt forward, knocking the onrushing blade aside with his crossbow, before plunging his bolt into his opponents arm, snapping the shaft and leaving it embedded there. His opponent hissed in pain and swung wildly at Ellros again, but Ellros dodged away and readied another shaft. He eyed his opponents moves and again the two leapt at each other, both intent on ending the others life in this instance.

Ellros moved his body to one side, barely missing a blow that would have caught him in the ribs before lashing out with his crossbow, hitting the elf in the face and forcing him to reel back. At the same time Ellros brought his crossbow bolt and stabbed the elf in the throat, blood seeping past his hand and making it slick and red. He smiled victoriously as he let go of the bolt and saw his opponent drop his sword, however his opponent with his dying breath lurched forward and headbutted Ellros.

Ellros reeled back and fell, expecting to hit the deck he found himself falling through the air to hit one of the lower decks, smacking his head as he landed his vision blurred and he blacked out into sweet unconciousness.


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## Santaire (Feb 13, 2011)

(Sorry for the delay)

As the battle drew nearer Acaman felt a flood of restless energy suffuse his body. He watched in silence as the galleon swung in, swift and sleek in the water before coming to rest close to the hull of the Prince’s Bane. He almost laughed when the sheer difference between the ships was revealed. The Kinslayer’s ship was as good as impregnable as the enemy lingered a good 2 feet below. After the previous tension this seemed so comical that several of the warriors shouted a hail of abuse. Acaman laughed as he watched the enemy crew scurry like ants, most going for cover although some desperately attempted to flee the trap their attempted raid had landed them in.

Acaman joined a group of Druchii as they drew their Uraithen. He paused and drew a breath. His gaze fastened onto a particular corsair, a champion, as the Druchii shouted “Sa'an'ishar.” Acaman smiled slightly, took aim and fired. His bolt tore through the Druchii’s throat and the dead warrior stumbled, falling out of sight into the slave pens.

Ropes finally reached the Prince’s Bane and there was a loud groan as several bulky Dark Elves heaved the ropes to the masts and tied them off, pinning the enemy ship in place. Closer to Acaman the giant whose group they had been fighting hurled a rope that locked solidly into place before heaving the other end to the nearest mast and fixing it in place with a knot. Acaman began to move for the rope but Nagar beat him to it, sliding down with a whoop of triumph. Acaman and the others followed him, blades bared and ready for blood.

Acaman let go of the rope a few metres above the ground to thud into the deck directly in front of one of the sailors. The man was hefting a blade normally used for ritual combat, a Glaith. Acaman parried or dodged all the fearful blows of his opponent besides one. He saw hope flicker in the sailor’s eyes as his strike slipped past Acaman’s sword. His lips twisted into a sneer and the sailor looked up just as Acaman’s free hand brought a dagger round and sliced through flesh and bone. The Druchii stared at the stump of his right hand in shock. Acaman spoke then and his eyes were drunk with bloodlust.

“Hard to fight without hands scum,” he snarled as his sword flickered out and his opponent screamed in pan as his left hand fell to the floor. The sailor turned to run and Acaman was silent for a moment before a final triumphant phrase left his mouth. “Or run without legs.” The screams of his opponent were drowned out by his hideous, cruel laughter…

Acaman stepped back from his handiwork and regarded the corpse of the sailor. It had been, he thought to himself, a truly exquisite death. Painful, naturally, but truly beautiful. Just then words were called out in a guttural language and a sudden, searing heat made Acaman turn. He froze as he saw the sails at the top of the central mast aflame. He was transfixed for a moment but soon realised the flames were the least of his problems.

Trap doors sprung open on both sides of the ship and fully armoured Dark Elf warriors sprang into the fight. Suddenly he and his group were caught in the middle of 2 thin lines of organised dark elves. Several of their swords flickered and the ship began to drift away from the Prince’s Bane as the ropes were severed with almost surgical ease. He allowed himself a moment to admire them before springing once more into action. His was not the only group stranded, a few other Druchii had made it to the ship, among them being the Kinslayer, his son and 3 of his bodyguards. Even while several groups charged for the Kinslayer’s group several more made for Acaman’s. 2 approached him and he slipped into a defensive stance.

They were lightly armoured, wielding swords and shields. They were skilled and confident and their blood was up. They were veteran corsairs, experienced warriors and no doubt each had proved his worth many times over. They stood no chance whatsoever.

Acaman was a blur of motion as his sword flickered up to block the first strike. He used the force of his opponent’s blow to spin him around and his foot lashed out, slamming into the shield of his foe, knocking the warrior back and dazing him but Acaman was already moving to engage the second corsair. He dodged the Druchii’s lunge and stepped past him spinning to face the 2 of them. He sprinted forward. He saw the sword coming, heard it whistling through the air and made no attempt to block.

At the last second however he dropped to his knees and slid underneath the sword, his neck craning backwards. He felt the razor sharp blade pass within millimetres of his face but even so his own sword was already moving. The blade severed the corsair’s left foot at the ankle and the warrior fell. Acaman stood, still moving and flipped over the second Druchii’s blade. His body spun in mid air and his sword knocked his opponent’s blade hard, greatly increasing the force behind the original swing. Acaman landed with his back to his foe and, holding his sword by the pommel, drove the blade backwards. There was a groan of pain and Acaman turned, letting go of his sword.

The second corsair had attempted to use Acaman’s strike at his blade to spin him around to face the Druchii whose sword now protruded from his chest. Needless to say he was a second too slow. There was a clatter as his blade fell to the floor. Acaman reached forward and gripped his sword’s hilt. He ripped the blade free and lashed out in a coup de grâce that severed his foe’s head. The body fell and Acaman saw the corsair whose foot had been so cruelly severed. He walked over to the groaning warrior and the Druchii looked up, his gaze drawn to Acaman’s cruel, unmerciful eyes.

They were the last things he ever saw…


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## High_Seraph (Aug 28, 2009)

Staring into Cerak's eyes Aradril feels the Kinslayer's own hatred welling up and being focused down upon him he ignores the other fights. Standing there with his back straight was taking all his willpower so when the magic enhanced voice came Aradril rocked back on his left foot slumping slightly his shoulders sagging and his breath coming in quick and ragged before looking out at the sea. There he sees the crest of the house of beasts. The degenerate scum who lacked any nobility at all were closing upon the Princes Bane and the rest of the ships. As Cerak's head twisted away Aradril regained his composure and stood straight once more. Hearing the bellows of others Aradril turns looking for a weapon or something to place over his body when a loud clanking forces his attention at his feet. The Kinslayer's own breastplate is there while Cerak is off gathering his men. 

*What trick is this? Why would he offer me protection? Or is it simply discarded in haste to rally the men? But why would he do it, he must know of my hatred of being treated like a slave while he knows I know that he hates me for besting him upon the seas.* Picking up the breastplate Aradril quickly checks for anything that doesn't seem to belong before sliding it over his head and adjusting the straps to fit his smaller frame though it still is loose. Holding his hand out a crossbow is slapped into it followed quickly by a quiver of bolts.

Slipping the bolts over a shoulder Aradril checks the crossbow over before heading to the side of the Prince's Bane. looking over the side Aradril sees the enemy losing bolts and throwing ropes all in a vain attempt to get at the warriors above them. Loosing a bolt Aradril hits on elf in his leg causing him to drop his own crossbow and scramble away from the mass of warriors struggling to reload or run from the swarm of shots from the Kinslayer's vessel. Reloading Aradril takes careful aim at another before being depressing the trigger sending the bolt through the other elf's chest and into his heart killing him instantly. Reloading Aradril takes a shot at another but misses completely as he had moved the second before Aradril fired the bolt sticking into the deck of the other ship. Feeling a rush of air followed by a burst of heat Aradril turns around to see a the main sails on fire. As others rush about to douse the fire that had sprung up Elena had appeared and with a simple flick of her slight wrist snuffed the flames. 

As a tall, gaunt yet hauntingly beautiful elf with long black hair and striking features hovers feet above the deck before shouting another spell knocking those there down to the deck. Seeing hooks appear seconds later Aradril moves with the others that had not gone to the attackers ship. Stepping quickly Aradril makes it halfway before black shapes come hurtling towards them. Dodging around the first and second Aradril moves by the third but get struck hard in the gut by the fourth cloak shunting him sideways before falling to the decking with a yell of surprise. Waving off the others attempts Aradril rises to a crouch grunting at the unexpected tautness of muscles and rises to see what he had thought to be a cloak moving and unfurling. The great black twisting wings coming apart revealing a human head with a mouth filled with fangs framed by wild unkempt black hair that billows in the wind. Slender arms with talons instead of fingernails ending the illusion of being assaulted by a normal enemy. looking at the lower portion of it Aradril sees dark almost naugr like skin before coming to a bird like foot all quite explicitly stating it was a harpy. 

Raising himself up to his feet Aradril sights down the crossbow at it before it releases a blood numbing screech. Releasing a bolt towards it the Harpy takes off as the bolt passed under the bird foot and continuing across the ship burying itself in the railing. Quikcly trying to reloading Aradril sees the harpy swoop down to close in before he could fully reload it. Flaring it's wings before another contact it kicked downwards with it's bird like feet raking them across the shield before it gripped it with it's hands and yanked it off his arm. Wincing at the pain aradril grabs a bolt and swings upwards at the harpy but it takes off yet again staying out of arms length circling him in the air. attempting to reload the harpy swoops down again but Aradril rolls to avoid its feet but the harpy's claws rake along his right leg drawing blood and a low curse from him before pulling back up into the sky. 

*Well it seems to attack when I try to reload otherwise it seems to just flit along in the air focusing on me in the main part. Wait that might work. If It keeps focusing on me I might be able to use that to lure it into a small trap.* Finishing the the thought Aradril moves slowly towards the center of the Prince's Bane. Trying to reload yet again Aradril drops the crossbow and grabs the harpy's feet pulling down with his full strength as it launched the kicks to disrupt him from using the crossbow. succeslfully bringing it down on the deck Aradril grabs a bolt from the quiver and slams it into the harpy's left knee crippling it and causing it to release another blood numbing screech that sets his head to pounding as if he had taken shore leave again. Pushing through it Aradril grabs another bolt and and jams it in the harpy's throat but not before it swipes at his throat with it's talons raking them along but thankfully to shallow for any really major harm is done. Standing up and retrieving the crossbw Aradril reloads it and scans for anu sign of those who were in his squad.


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