MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

MAGICAL

VAMPIRE
( PRECURSOR )

PLAYED BY: AQUARIUS
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

Decorative wheels carved from ancient wood followed the chosen path. A carriage sheltering the vampire from the heat and immense sunlight from the heavens. For none would dare ask one of eldest of their kind to walk beneath the gaze of the sun. Servants of the noble lineage guiding its passage forward with others watching for those who would bring ill will. It was the highest honor to serve the Precursors of Ash-Angen.

Shards of golden light pierced through the veil of the carriage, offering the ancient being light to read his tome. Countless pages already explored the vampire held the book aloft in his hand. Reading its passages in the dim light, escaping from the wrath of the sweltering heat of the coming desert. Missing the luxury of tomes burned long ago by his kin. Having done his best to restore a modicum of the collection in his own personal study.

Attention was drawn to the fragments of light, for beyond his private chamber the world around them had grown quiet. Interest swelling in his breast for what was to come. In the millenia and countless centuries that he came to be in had taught him much. To believe the once proud elven warrior had softened with his affliction was a mistake. Hemocraft had only strengthened his control of Aether.

Maluithil rose from his seat and opened the chamber door, letting the warmth of the world swallow the inside. Stepping free from the wooden prison. A single monocle reflecting a burst of light with its reflection. Accessing the situation for himself the Precursor senses came into focus. A ceremonial blade resting on his hip, not betraying his heritage for its craft came from his prior kin. Its craftsmanship unparalleled with the likes of blades forged by mortal hands.




REPLY TO POST


04-13-2021, 12:50 PM (This post was last modified: 04-13-2021, 12:51 PM by MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON.)



QUOTE

[Image: akBnQGA.png]


Radhdrion Faron Gost

MAGICAL

Calaquendi Elf
( The Unrelenting )

PLAYED BY: Sword
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY Radhdrion Faron Gost

The solar disk above the clouds glared angrily over them, angry light for an angry purpose. Faron pondered once more, perched as he was over the head of one of the gigantic statues, poking out of the sands. In times long past these faces roamed the lands as gods, Faron had been fortunate enough (or perhaps unfortunate enough) to witness some of them do battle during the draconic disaster.

Now they were nothing but stone and living memory, as it should be. The Seraphim had left this world in the stewardship of the Starchildren and out here on the pass to the dunes beyond, Faron had been tasked with the upholding of their mantle as masters of this world. Once more, he stood here, in this cursed land of Deldran, hell once more in this accursed pass, once more facing the vampiric abominations. This prey was not like the others, not some bloodsucker of the city or some northern warlord.

This one was a Precursor, one of the original sinners, the real deal.

Faron could count himself as one of the lucky individuals to have witnessed true arcane vampiric power and survived to tell the tale. The last time he had been at the business point of a Precursor, he had been left a parting gift in the form of a scar horizontally just next to his belly button all the way to his back, just shy of his spine. That was made with magic and the scar would never fade, thinking of the oncoming confrontation made the scar tingle with a sensation the veteran assassin was unsure to call fear.

At some point, terror and excitement became the same thing.

The target approached on carriage from the west.

Against the glaring sun, Faron and the Unrelenting stood as cloaked shadows atop stone. Faron’s usual mirth was gone, replaced by a tense anticipation, his face frozen in a rictus between stoic and anxious. Most of it was thankfully covered by a dark scarf, terrain and climate had made them adopt the dark cloaks and turbans of the locals.

He had made preparations, now they would be put to the test. This would be his deadliest prey so far.

And as fear once again ran through his veins, Faron felt the feverish pitch of anticipation rising.

His hands brandished the long, curved bow with precise, practiced movements that evoked in themselves both elegance and predatory intent. The arrow nocked and ready was special, a concession that reflected on the true respect they had for their target. Its crystallic tip pulsed with iridescent light, snaking paths of aether traveling along the shaft towards that sharp core, gleaming like a star as Faron allowed the arcane essence the world had emerged from to flow from his body into the projectile.

The damned vampire had driven them to this, to use magic, that in itself was a show of respect for power rarely ever bestowed on anyone these days by the Children of the Stars.

Indeed, they should feel honored. That was his musing as he set the magical arrow loose. Plenty of preparations had been made, now they would be put to the test. The arcane projectile traveled in arc, a small comet that whizzed by with the melodic sound of a finger on the rim of a glass.

It embedded itself on the ground, just in front of one of the carriages wheels, bluish light intensified in its glaring strength below the sand.

A spark.

Then a thundering boom, the explosion rising as a plume of sand, splintered wood and blue fire. The dazed survivors of the retinue if not gored by the opening play would have to survive what followed. That was the signal, figures draped in desert leathers and turbans emerged from the rocks surrounding the pass, curved steel gleaming in their hands, swarming the wreck, from atop rocks others with curved bows began to pick targets. Human mercenaries, meant to sweep the scene clean.

Faron looked at the plume of smoke, left behind, sounds of battle would begin soon. He was not stupid enough to think this had been enough. But the humans would serve them as a functional disposable recon force, to get a preview of what they were dealing with.

The Unrelenting stayed on the high ground, unmoving shadows watching the violence below.

Their turn would come soon enough.




REPLY TO POST


04-14-2021, 08:09 PM



QUOTE

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
Tis' but the ecstasy of death,
And then the break is still


MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

MAGICAL

VAMPIRE
( PRECURSOR )

PLAYED BY: AQUARIUS
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

Upon his departure from his carriage a volley of magic arced from the heavens. Finding its mark before the caravan before an explosion swiftly devastated sight. A plume of azure energy and debris eviscerated by the ambush. Tendrils dropped from the monuments of the Seraphim. Followers of the assassin commander repelling down to the target beneath. It was unfortunate for his prior kin to have chosen him as their opponent. Once an astral whomst court was that of military affairs and tactics. From the void of destruction a sudden burst of movement radiated.

A swift gust eroding the plume of dust, revealing the unscathed corrupted astral. Currents of air twisting around him violently as a means of protection. Releasing his grasp from his breast to beyond himself. For a breathe the world remained motionless before the blades of wind cut through his surroundings like a blender. Mercenaries meant to capture or slay the downed nobility were turned into mists of crimson in an instant. Directing his aether with the tip of his blade that he had drawn. Elegant yet destructive, his wrath was absolute.

A human ploy in Deldran was inconceivable, this was the crafted by others. Eyes piercing from where the arrow had crested from. Unshaken his voice boomed from below towards the gazes of the Seraphim from beyond. " Only a fool would be brave enough to challenge my authority in the open." announcing to the heavens as he concentrated his aether. A unique pressure swelling around the visage of the precursor. A vortex began to spiral around his feet as he called upon the modicum of aether kneeling before his might.

A shockwave erupting from his presence as the world began to attract towards him. At first debris and rocks began to pull towards him and the the world beneath him but soon enough the sheer immensity of his might came into begin. Pulling down towards him were fragments of the carved stone. Winds pulling from every direction towards the Precursor. Destabilizing any juxtaposition beyond him that might have given his enemy the advantage. It felt like the being at the center of the catastrophe was controlling the very gravity around them.

A vacuum of aether would end upon his command as the world in an instant fell back into place. Heavy stones and fractured debris falling back to the world around him like javelins. With the release of energy the former elf had exhausted his patience. Examining the glint of light upon the elven metal in his hand. Having no desire to discover the origin of the threat. It desired him and would come to the Precursor. Only then would it learn the mistake it had made in targeting him. A millenia of skill and combat bound to the vampire.




REPLY TO POST


04-17-2021, 05:26 PM (This post was last modified: 04-17-2021, 05:27 PM by MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON.)



QUOTE

[Image: akBnQGA.png]


Radhdrion Faron Gost

MAGICAL

Calaquendi Elf
( The Unrelenting )

PLAYED BY: Sword
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY Radhdrion Faron Gost

As was customary for Faron’s plans, the initial development of the operation went rather smoothly. He was a professional after all, a couple of the vampiric bodyguards got torn to pieces by the initial explosion, although much less than Faron would have preferred and for a few moments, his mercenary ambush seemed to hold operational momentum.

Warriors, immortal and ancient as they were, still had only 4 limbs and a head. Faron watched with interest as one of the noble vampires emerged with a bloody face out of the smoke of the wreckage, nothing but his clawed hands as weapons, not that he needed more. One man had his neck snapped like a twig, the vampire’s hand went through another’s chest as if it were wet paper, the pulsating heart of his victim grasped as the hand found sunlight yet again coming out his back. The heart was crushed with a wet sound as it was extracted and with an elegant flourish, the vampire took possession of the corpse’s sword, becoming a dancer of shadow and steel as he cut down 1...2...3...4...5...6...7-

Then as fast as the dance had begun, it met its violent end as an arrow lodged itself on the creature’s neck, making the vampire flinch for just enough of a moment to get a spear on the side, driving him to his knees, before another mercenary closed in the distance, splitting his beautiful and noble visage in half with a sword-strike, immortality splattered across the sun-bleached stone of the desert.

Humans were indeed resourceful.

In the short moments, after his rather bombastic start, Faron managed to witness another couple of similar scenes. The vampiric bodyguards, valiantly charging out of the ash and smoke, striking down the pesky bugs only to be overwhelmed by stray hits and sheer numbers, the mercenaries were doing their jobs, despite their rather staggering attrition.

But as with all plans in the battlefield, things had to go shit.

A flash, the hum of Aether discharging. The wind blew in unnatural ways and from the plume of fire and smoke, a dome of compressed air surged outwards. Most of the close-quarters fighting mercenaries died instantly, reduced to pink mist. Those on the edges of the pass had managed to avoid instant death, even if some had been unable to retain the entirety of their limbs, at the very least, the majority of the mercenary archers had the sense to get into cover behind the rocks of the pass.

Still, that was over half of his initial ambush force gone in an instant, they were disposable but he needed them to survive for a bit longer to get some more intel before the real operation began.

The smoke plume cleared, divined away by arcane power. A voice boomed in the air, glory its epicenter, the assassin recognized this one. Faron clicked his tongue in annoyance and distaste, of all these monsters, they had to get the General. He was not the one that gave him the scar, but he had the displeasure of being on the other side of his strategic genius during the Vampire Wars, down south in Ash-Rodenth if he recalled right.

He had no illusions of being recognized by Edledhron, the Exiled, General of Ash-Angen, back in the war he was nothing but a humble scout. But even his humble self could offer this old monster a challenge, Faron mused as he threw back the curved bow to one of his associates.

Another hum, the buzz of thaumaturgic pressure, Aether Discharge. The Unrelenting faced the traitor Moriquendi regularly, they were no strangers to fighting mages. With swift movements, their blades and spears were unsheathed and driven into the stony scalps of the Seraphim statues, anchoring them in place as wind and gravity were bent to arcane will, the poor sods trapped with gored legs and arms could do little as they were sucked in. It was over as fast as it started, rock shards fell from the sky like shrapnel, turning corpses and injured screaming men into mincemeat, those unlucky enough to have been sucked in were thrown against the rocks, bones crunching as their lives became splatters upon the desert.

Was that elemental magic or just raw Aether manipulation?

Faron’s mind was in a controlled overdrive, reviewing the battle facts. Most of the archers and the few survivors of the close-quarters force had been smart enough to cling to the biggest rocks for dear life, as of now they seemed to just be recovering from the sheer shock of facing high-grade combat spellcasting. The veteran assassin reviewed his options quickly, the surviving mercenary force had lost the critical mass needed to overwhelm the surviving bodyguard, yet they still needed to be killed if Faron was to face the Precursor in optimal conditions.

Beneath the dark desert robes, their only armor were mithril shirts. He could have made some extra preparations regarding self-defense and he did, but as a veteran of the Vampire Wars, Faron and his colleagues were aware that at a certain level of arcana, armor became superfluous. The Aether would have to forgive them for making liberal use of it today, but this was one of those situations one would call extraordinary.
Faron sighed, he had his next move, he just hoped his traps on the ground survived and that the surviving mercenaries had the sense to stay behind the rocks for a little longer. Both swords raised, curved elven steel shining like bluish silver in the sunlight, the elven assassin brought them both down in a gesture. Atop the rocks, the Unrelenting did as Faron had done mere moments ago and with deadly elegance, their bows were readied, arrows nocked, the iridescent glow of aether flowing through their crystallic tips.

Faron was already rappelling down the statue, to rendezvous with his ground team as the overwatch team let their volley loose. The melodic song of the enchanted arrows echoed through the pass as they travelled in beautiful arcs, like a meteor shower. With dull clang, like spoons hitting a glass, they lodged themselves on the sands of the pass, a dozen little humming lights upon the road

Then they detonated.

For a moment the open space in the pass that was used as a road to enter the desert became nothing but an inferno, like the insides of a star. Blue flames surged upwards, licking the faces of the Seraphim, shy of reaching the stoic, cloaked figures of the elves, humans screamed in terror and panic as they cowered behind the rocks, where the flame touched the rock became an angry red, sand was kicked upwards, where it crystallized into glass then melted into an angry orange goop only to fall back as a kind of burning rain.

But believe it or not, this was above all, a diversionary tactic.

What Faron was after, as he advanced with bold strides at the head of his fellow assassins, was the thick cloud of aether infused smoke that would be left behind. It would dull extra-sensory spells, giving them cover to advance, shrouded in shadow. The vampires had lost their elf-eyes, but the Unrelenting were star-children and their eyes could discern the shining pulse of corrupted Aether in the abominations’ bodies.

It was time for a monster hunt.

"Chwilio a dinistrio"

Was his whisper in the wind.

Then the Unrelenting lost themselves in hellish shadows.




REPLY TO POST


04-18-2021, 03:36 PM (This post was last modified: 04-18-2021, 03:38 PM by Radhdrion Faron Gost.)



QUOTE

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
Tis' but the ecstasy of death,
And then the break is still


MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

MAGICAL

VAMPIRE
( PRECURSOR )

PLAYED BY: AQUARIUS
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY MALUITHIL GALADFAE EDLEDHRON

A second volley of azure meteorites sailed through the darkened rift, suspending the devastated terrain in the air. Plumes of magical heat exploded forth with a thick cloud of smoke. This second assault reigned absolute devastation upon the fortifications Maluithil prepared from the fractured earth. Debris scattered into the void, thick atmosphere swallowed the mountainside realm. Absolving the vampire of his sight.

Focus intent fell upon his other senses, crackling of flames and footsteps echoed around the battlefield. Burdened with the heavy scent of destruction, his sense of smell would do little to safeguard him from ambush. Elven steel flexed silently in the ebb and flow of time. Biding its time for its viperous strike. Knowing the traits of his kin all to well, vision bound to the anchor of aether provided them an advantage. Yet did they understand his own.

Bringing the blade to his free hand, the vampire tapped the razors edge to his flesh. Ichor forming upon the crescent wound as blood began to paint his pale skin. Yet before he could fall from his hand to the world below it began to float. Droplets forming into a sphere of condensed blood. Blood magic adopted by his kin had been mastered by the ancient warrior of the Aerian kingdoms. " Formidable. If you were tasked with a lesser being." Edledhorn mused.

Sacrificing his lifeblood to become a dark violent red aether. Conjuring a vessel of his wrath. A blade mimicking his own forged from the corrupted aether before him. With each passing moment another blade formed before a conjured storm of ethereal blades slumbered around his form. Vicious movement from the ethereal weapons eroded at the smokescreen of the elf and defended him in the same instant. Welcoming the approach of the elven assassins.




REPLY TO POST


05-01-2021, 09:51 PM



QUOTE

[Image: akBnQGA.png]


Radhdrion Faron Gost

MAGICAL

Calaquendi Elf
( The Unrelenting )

PLAYED BY: Sword
The Shadow of the Past

WROTE BY Radhdrion Faron Gost

The air was filled with smoke and blood.

They were wraiths in the shadows.

Their enemy was ancient, their commander knew the ways of the starchildren, for he had forsaken the blessing of their divine light for his current sacrilegious form. This did not matter, veteran as they were, savant and dignified as they were as honor guards to one of the immortal lords of Ash-Angen.

Even the mightiest of swordsmen could fall to the blade in the shadows.

Their eyes had lost the elven shine, their noses were full of the acrid stench of aether infused debris. These were not warriors anymore, but prey.

And as prey they would hunt them.

The Unrelenting darted through the smoke, undeterred, guided by their aether-vision. Their cloaks fluttered, they were spectres clad in shadow. Eyes shining blue, like the glint of their blades. The vampiric guards made a circle around the wreckage where their lord stood, still glorious and pristine, having shielded them from their righteous fury. Like a silver snake, a chain tipped with a spear-point emerged from the depths of the smoke cloud, coiling tightly around one of the guard’s ankles. The crimson eyes upon the soot-stained pale face had just the time to widen in realization, then the chain was pulled, the ancient warrior collapsed helplessly, unable to cling to anything beyond sand and scorched glass and with a furious roar as their last riposte to an oncoming death, they were swallowed by the ember-filled darkness.

The tune of an elven blade.

Then silence

The vampiric circle tightened around their lord, ever faithful phalanx.

The darkness was home to ominous signs, the faint glow of elven eyes, the rustling of weapons. No words were needed, with their eyes the only communication necessary was done through hand signals. From the depths of the smog emerged an object, thrown with violence towards the circle, the ancient vampire mistress at which it was aimed simply sidestepped, an effortless movement full of immortal elegance. Yet the object that had now fallen on the feet of the Precursor was now in plain view, revealing the visage of the decapitated head of the compatriot that had been dragged into the shadows.

The morbid revelation was enough to make the august guardian twitch for half a moment, half a moment was enough. The hum of airborne elven steel pierced her ears, followed by a spear piercing through the smoke cloud, flying at full-velocity towards her face. Her vampiric features twisted with fury as her hand rose with blinding speed, catching the offending weapon from the shaft just millimeters from her own face.

What she failed to spot just as quickly however was the humming arrow from an elven sniper. To her credit, her other hand rose just as quickly with supernatural reflexes. The arrow pierced one of her eyes mercilessly, but her hand, trembling with pain and fury, took hold of its shaft, before the offending projectile could reach her brain. The guardian snarled, furious, vindictive, then her skull thrummed with the now familiar hum of concentrated aether in the arrowhead.

Despair crossed her face for a moment, then her face was no more. The arrow detonated, turning the vampiric skull into a shower of gore and a hail of shrapnel. In the confusion, the bladed chain emerged like a viper once more, coiling around the ankles of a vampire blinded by his comrade’s cerebral remains. There was the rebellious shout of a warrior, defiant in the face of doom and they too were dragged into the maelstrom. Another crossed his arms to cover himself from the splatter of gore and fragments of bone, forearms cruelly pierced by what once was his dear partner’s cranial vault. Red eyes glared into the ember-spotted black with hatred, then a humming arrow pierced his knee from behind.

He had half a moment for his gaze to widen in surprise before the detonation turned his leg up to the upper thigh into pink mist. A crossbow bolt emerged from the smoke, lodging itself on the back of his skull and poking back out again from in-between his eyes. What collapsed on the sands was a lifeless corpse.

Yet before they could capitalize on their momentum, the Precursor once again reacted. An annoying yet thrilling recurrence at this point for the assassin commander. Scarlet shining with the thrumming of unstable aether, a ring of blades, cutting around his carefully prepared smokescreen as if it were butter.

Sacrilege, heresy, Blood Magic

Behind the dark scarf covering his face, Faron grinned with something that was half anticipation and half anger.

No rest for the wicked indeed…

Faron ceased his sprint, raising a fist, immediately the Unrelenting, previously circling their prey like sharks enthralled by the smell of bleeding prey, jumped back, seeking the security of the still surviving shadows. Behind his makeshift mask, Faron’s grinned widened.

They had tricks of their own.

It was time to check the traps.

The elven assassin’s fist moved with professional elegance, his fingers conveying messages that did not need to be expressed with his voice. The first order: Humans. The Unrelenting understood immediately and a part of them moved swiftly towards the rocks, where the survivors of the mercenary force still cowered in utter confusion. Their cooperation was imperative for the next stage of this battle. Besides, with most of their comrades dead, their pay was now substantially more lucrative.

The second order conveyed with his hand: Traps

Three of the assassins mobilized themselves around the perimeter of their enemy. Faron kept his senses sharp as he checked the scorched sands and glass fields below his feet, looking...looking…

His hands found the heavy links of a chain, the magical firestorm had blackened the elven steel, but the chain was still attached to the metallic trapdoor they had installed days before under the sands of the pass. Stars bless intel, without the certainty that a Precursor would move through this precise location, Faron would have hardly been able to be as thorough in his preparations to slay this particular beast.

He looked around, his colleagues informing the operability of the other three mechanisms arranged in the four cardinal points surrounding the Precursor’s little entrenched position. Faron raised his fist high, after this, their cover would be reduced significantly, but that was bound to happen sooner or later.

The Precursor’s defense was solid, to approach the ring of blades was suicide. But it was a defense made out of many small parts, limited mass. All that was needed was matching speed...and superior mass.

Faron’s fist descended like a guillotine, a sign.

Fire!

Four blackened chains were pulled, snapping complex elven mechanisms to life. From the metallic trapdoors sprang forth silvery elvish scorpions, shaped like graceful birds of prey, immediately, the mechanisms that had freed them from their underground prisons fired their loaded bolts. Their armor-piercing tips flew with blinding speed towards their convergence point: The General himself.

The superior mass of the bolts pierced through the ring of blood blades with their momentum. Most of the vampiric guardians managed to either barely sidestep their trajectory or to successfully launch themselves to the ground. One was not as lucky, a bolt snapping their arm in two as a twig as it mercilessly continued its path towards their lord.

This move had cost Faron and his other three associates that had activated the trap their cover. The sheer force of the scorpions and the velocity of the bolts had blown clearly through the smoke screen, although the outer edges of the pass were still clouded in emberly shadows. That was no matter, the four of them were already on the move, sprinting behind the projectiles’ trails.

They just had to keep the escort busy.

Faron was taking the first prod at this monster.




REPLY TO POST


05-02-2021, 09:53 PM



QUOTE

A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
Tis' but the ecstasy of death,
And then the break is still



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