Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 28, 2007 13:43:11 GMT -5
Sharp, crimson eyes watched, from where the dark figure crouched upon a hill, the small mass of bodies walking, scuffling, colliding with one another below. They had not seen her, nor caught any other sign of her yet, which was ever invaluable.
They stood in a small village, these dead, gory-looking bodies. The village itself was tiny, unmarked on most maps due to the fact that it was more like a settlement of two or three small families, and was relatively recent. Now, the number of live people in the village was even lower, as some of the dead Syn recognized as once-inhabitants.
She counted about five of them, plus the two who had been raised originally. Seven.. Good. Seven was, after all, her lucky number. She saw no sign of who had raised these dead, but imagined that whoever it was was trying to raise a small army. And by small army, this would make a small army. There were eight more people who were alive here, nine counting herself, and she had no intention of letting anymore people die.
This was, mind you, not to be confused with her caring about the people of this tiny, remote village, but rather that she intended to find and kill whomever had created these zombies. Only two things could raise zombies; necromancers, which was not as frightening to her as it would be to most, and the smarter, stronger stryfe, also not scary.
With a smirk, Syn stood, drawing from her back her bardiche, and slowly began walking down the hill. If they didn't see her yet, they would in a matter of miliseconds, because she was no longer being stealthy..
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Post by Tristan on Jan 28, 2007 16:19:56 GMT -5
He'd ridden as fast and hard as possible, pushing CĂrdan to his limits. Sure, it was just zombies, and someone would be along to take care of it eventually, but zombies didn't just randomly appear. Someone had to have put them there, and whether it was some foul necromancer or - even worse - Stryfe, he wanted people to know he was there. The money was second to him. Only recognition mattered.
Tristan had barely managed to unstrap his Glaive before he noticed movement on the other side of the village. It did occur to him that this place was small enough that he could see across it, and it he found it a little odd. Even as an amateur, he'd seen bigger outbreaks than this. Good, he thought. Then I won't have to work too hard, right? Perhaps he'd assumed that a little too quickly. His pretty violet eyes were soon narrowing, slender fingers tightening around the shaft of his weapon. Nymandine? Here?! Tristan had a healthy hatred for them, and now that he realized one was here, there was no question that she had brought on the small plague... and now she had the audacity to charge him?
Had she been waiting to ambush him? How had she heard about it? It didn't matter, he decided sternly as he began to break into his own swift stride. Her minions would fall, and they'd do so in the tainted blood of their master.
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 29, 2007 22:30:49 GMT -5
Syn's eyes caught the newcomer, and her face twisted into a dangerous snarl, that of the wild cat warning one who strays into its territory. However, there were now seven zombies who had noticed the both of them, breaking whatever sort of formation that they had (which was even less than none) to begin charging towards them.
Eyes on her prey now, the Nymandine woman let out a ferocious battle cry, one that was born of pure rage as she lowered her center of gravity and began to run towards the closest one, bardiche ready at her side. The chaos that she knew would ensue was the cause of wax earplugs already in those larger ears of hers, but the important sounds filtered through regardless.
Sounds like the zombies that were approaching her faster than she would have liked, sounds like her bardiche swishing through the air, her body moving as a fine-tuned machine in perfect step with her opponents, the sound of what blood was left gushing from a head wound in the zombie she'd charged. It had not even fallen fully before she was moving again, careful to avoid the grasps of her opponents. In the light, fighting as she was, she truly was so much like the panthers she resembled. She was a monster.
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Post by Tristan on Jan 29, 2007 22:46:13 GMT -5
Tristan was quite the opposite, it seemed. Despite being obviously more refined and restrained in his style of combat, there was an unearthly grace behind his movements, a sign of the heritage that his amethyst eyes and pointed ears marked. There wasn't much to the zombie psych, anyone knew that, so he preferred to take them slowly, delicately, and as safely as possible; after all, he had to take down a Nymandine necromancer after this.
There was no battle cry, no red tint to his vision as he moved into their midst - the hunter planted his feet between a pack of three and quickly, almost systematically, began to tear them apart, using both ends of his weapon to deflect their addled attacks and sever the limbs responsible. It was a terrible sound that nearly caused him to loose his concentration, and between the ragged flesh and splashes of blood, he could only catch a glimpse of the woman running straight at him. That was all it took to unnerve him, however; he'd never seen someone cut their own minions down in such a way. Maybe she had a particular hatred of Albians? Suits me fine, he thought, deciding that perhaps now wasn't the time to pace himself with the zombies. He halved those surrounding him, stepping over animated torsos to get a better view of his enemy.
Her bloodlust shook him, but he wouldn't let it show, standing at the ready and awaiting the moment of her doom.
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 29, 2007 22:59:05 GMT -5
Syn moved with the elegant balance of a dancer or a gymnast. A dancer or a gymnast of death, that is. Everything about her seemed wild, untamed, and her rage and her bloodlust came in limitless reserve. With every move she made, something screamed, or died, or screamed and then died.
She kept up with Tristan easily as far as kills went, which left one last zombie in their midst.. It seemed confused, unsure of whom would be the best prey, yet stupid and lacking even the basest reasoning it would have required to figure out that no matter who it attacked, it would be dead in less than a second.
She charged. The distance was not far, but far enough that she wanted a running start. With the precision of a world-class dart thrower, she used her bardiche to pole vault, lithe, strong body perching atop the wood as if it were an entire tree, before she swung the polearm over her head and foreward, slashing downwards for the zombie's head..
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Post by Tristan on Jan 29, 2007 23:07:43 GMT -5
He didn't flinch as cold blood splattered against his dark leathers and speckled his cheek. If this woman was trying to impress him with her recklessness, she had certainly succeeded, but that didn't mean he'd back down. He'd never done such a thing and certainly didn't plan to today. An opportunity like this was nothing more than a chance to prove himself, and... well, if he didn't make it off the field, then he didn't deserve to carry this weapon or don the crucifix earring that dangled from a pale lobe.
The final minion had fallen, and he wondered idly if its diseased brain had any chance to realize that both halves of its body were moving indepedently of each other. It didn't really matter, he supposed. They weren't moving at all a second later. He unclasped his gloves and stuck them in his back pocket, his gentle, almost apologetic eyes meeting the feral ones of the Nymandine before wiping the red from his face. Gloves were for filth, for zombies, Kazi and the like. This woman... he actually wanted her blood on his hands. He leaned against his glaive, looking tired or nonchalant, depending on how you wanted to interpet it. Either way, he hoped she would see it was weakness, a false one that he could exploit.
After a moment, he realized that he wasn't quite sure what to do. He didn't want to make the first move - it was always easiest to react, he'd found. With hardly a word to find behind his lips, he eventually managed a soft "Well?", his voice light and lovely.
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 29, 2007 23:16:41 GMT -5
Syn panted hard, adrenalin rushing through her veins and giving her a rush and a high all at once. Killing was what she did, and the thrill of battle gave her an escape from reality, if even for only a little while. For a moment, she basked in the feeling of another victory, catching her breath and yet always keeping her ears on the Deus.
After a moment, her crimson eyes locked onto Tristan, and she watched him like a lion watches its prey. Curious, yet vicious, determining whethere there was hostile intent or whether he would just lay down and die for her. After a second or two, she snorted, and turned, taking her seat on one of the corpses and cleaning her bardiche with a spare cloth.
"Well what?" she asked, voice dripping hostility in every possible way. She hated people- detested them. And not only was this one person part of the larger people, but he was human and Albian, a mix she found not uncommon, but not fitting to her goals. Her eyes flickered up to the man once more, the predator watching potential prey, as she continued to clean up the blade in her lap. The corpse below her twitched, and was met by yet another deep stab wound to the head.
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Post by Tristan on Jan 29, 2007 23:24:40 GMT -5
He could definitely see hatred in her eyes, but he didn't expect her to dismiss him so easily, or to start tending to her blade. As far as he was concerned, they weren't finished here, but it looked like she thought so. "Well, aren't you going to explain why you created these worthless monsters? Why you felt the need to terrorize the townsfolk here? They deserve retribution for your actions. I'm a man of honor, so I'll give you a few seconds to get on your feet, but I'll not wait longer. I've got other scum to snuff out."
There was cold conviction in his words, and he spoke them like a true, fire-and-brimstone crusader - which, essentially, Tristan was. He'd never hurt a soul who didn't deserve it, but the steely resolve in his voice made it sound like he certainly could, if it meant the resolution of his goals. He leaned back onto his own feet, hoisted his weapon, and rested the flat edge of its head on his shoulder.
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 29, 2007 23:32:58 GMT -5
[..... Okay, one more XD;;]
Syn allowed him to speak, quirking a brow in interest and allowing herself the smallest of smirks. Crimson eyes ghosted over every inch of him, sizing him up, testing him, seeing what he was made of. He had to be young.. There was no way an older Elf would mistake her for a necromancer after seeing that display. Of course, most knew she was shunned, so it wouldn't matter either way who thought what to her.
When he finished, she smiled a cold, deadly smile, attempting to be kind, and yet failing miserably as her eyes gave away something even more fierce than what she'd just shown. "How old are you, boy?" she asked. "While I'm more than flattered you think I could raise the dead, I can't say I'm not more than a little pissed off that you'd think I'd need these things in order to terrorize a town, let alone a village."
She gestured at the corpse below her, and gave Tristan a moment to let that all sink in, watching him, ever calm, yet wildly prepared as the pit viper.
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Post by Tristan on Jan 29, 2007 23:44:53 GMT -5
"Insulted that I underestimated your tyranny, are you?" Tristan chose to ignore that little bit about how old he was, because the answer wouldn't do a whole lot in his defense. Quite the contrary, actually. It was bad enough that he had little to no formal training in his chosen "profession," but the fact that he was barely into his twenties was even worse. The impression of a coiled snake wasn't entirely lost on him, but he'd handled snakes before - and they were always arrogant down to the last moment. He hated snakes.
"I'm not quite sure what other purpose you'd be serving here," he continued with a look of interest. "I was certain that I was the only one alerted to the disturbance, and I obviously didn't need any help. That only leaves you one role, that of the culprit. Feel free to explain yourself, but I'm not going to hold my breath for the word of a Nymandine."
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Jan 30, 2007 16:34:29 GMT -5
Syn snorted her amusement, yet that dangerous air remained. She was not one to be taken lightly, but she wasn't going to kill someone with no good reason. Call her a moral murderess, but she valued life to some extent.
"When have you ever met a culprit who killed their own minions?" she asked, voice calm as ever. "Obviously, raising the dead takes more than a little effort, so why waste it in slaughtering them for no good reason? If anything, boy, I suggest you rethink your logic on this one, lest you get yourself hurt, hm?"
Actually speaking to someone, it wasn't difficult to pick up a hint of a much more formal sort of speech, like that of a noble, but it was equally as apparent that she was trying not to sound anything like what she did. She hated her past as much as she hated the creatures that inhabited Edarin with her. Well, except for Slainte, of course.
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Post by Tristan on Jan 31, 2007 14:01:47 GMT -5
Well... perhaps he had been a bit quick to judge, eager to pin something on a Nymandine. Still, this gave way to the unwelcome reality that someone else had gotten here when he had, and that meant the whole thing was a bust. There might be a way to twist this with words so it worked in his favor, but he wasn't about to try in front of this woman, who looked like she was just waiting for an excuse to kill him.
"I guess you've got a point, and stop calling me boy." He thrust the base of his glaive into the soft earth and moved to inspect a few of the creatures who'd suffered their second deaths, idly putting his gloves back on as he did so. "I am curious how you found out about this, though. No offense, but I doubt most in these parts would trust a Nymandine to a dying village." He stood up and looked towards her, one hand on his hip. "There's also the issue of the reward."
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Feb 1, 2007 23:38:56 GMT -5
This one was presumptuous indeed.. Syn didn't care for presumptuous, but she was intrigued. Perhaps she would have new leather to add to her clothing. "Sorry to slaughter your hopes and dreams," she began, before pausing, blinking, and then smirking. "Actually, I'm not sorry for that. Nope, that was the highlight of this encounter."
She herself was more than amused now, presumptuous in her own ways, but not caring. However, she completely kept her composure, cool and calm, and ever the predator in waiting. "At any rate, it just looks like I was in the right place at the right time, or my tracking skills remain unrivalled."
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Post by Tristan on Feb 2, 2007 17:21:17 GMT -5
He wasn't afraid enough of this woman to spare a faint smile of his own at her comments, not wanting to let on just how much she got to his nerves. Bad enough that anyone who heard about this would know about her, thus tainting whatever small amount of renown this would've earned him, but he needed the money too. Tristan took a few steps in her direction, for really nothing else than to make sure she didn't think he was too frightened to do so.
"I don't know enough about you to discredit your abilities, but it wouldn't be the first time I've seen a Nymandine led around by the smell of blood and tragedy." He narrowed his shimmering eyes again, tossing his hair back out of his face, unwilling to use his hands since they were sheathed in blood-soaked leather. "We're both being quite rude, aren't we? Not a proper introduction anywhere to be found. Perhaps we should take care of that so we can move on to discussing more important matters."
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Syn
Novice
Devilsbane
Posts: 75
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Post by Syn on Feb 3, 2007 14:47:46 GMT -5
Syn looked up at him, still cleaning her bardiche, as if judging whether or not to even attempt to be friendly with him. Her eyes were mirroring her smile, one of those dangerous ones, yet amused, and almost unsure of what to make of this young hunter. Almost.
"Oh yes, we all thrive off of blood," she said, humoring him for a moment, nodding and looking mildly serious, but the sarcasm dripped from her words like venom. "In fact, we have all sorts of rituals where we sacrifice our virgins and drink from the heads of our enemies." It was then that she paused before snorting with amusement. Proper introductions were missing indeed.
"I am called Syn," she said, never easily led to give away her real name. She tossed him her cleaning rag so that he might take care of his own weapon-- or even his gloves, for that matter-- and then stood. "And you are?"
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