• Graded • [Mature] "I'm gonna punch it"

[Varthakh]

7th Ashan 717

The sounds of the wilderness flooded the couple's ears, insects chirping, water fowl cooing, the likes. "You saw that, right?" Fridgar whispered over to his lover. The two had been on a walk beside a large river before Fridgar abruptly pulled Alistair behind a large dune of dirt and sand, he probably hadn't seen what Fridgar was talking about.

"You didn't see it!?" Fridgar spoke in a loud whisper, almost sounding irritated despite whatever Alistair had said. "A fucking HUGE crocodile! I've never seen one that big..." Fridgar looked to the distance as he pondered. His mind had been made - he needed it as a totem. "Alistair, I'm gonna go punch it." Fridgar spoke, forgetting his hushed tone. Slowly and steadily, he would look over the dune. The creature had moved out of sight. "Oh, it's gone." he explained as he stood up and looked about.

Fridgar paused, the blood draining from his face mid-way through dusting himself off. He would then dive away from the dune and into the long grass opposite Alistair. His head would poke through the grass to his mate with genuine fear in his eyes "It's behind the dune! get over here!" Fridgar warned trills before a giant crocodile with armoured skin dragged its belly over the sand and dirt. Behold, a king crocodile - a hungry one at that. Fridgar's heart sank, seeing it that close to Alistair. Luckily, Fridgar was the one who had been making the noise and was the one that it had seen first, so rushed forward on its stumpy legs, hissing wildly.

Fridgar would yelp and jump back into the grass as it raced forward with alarming speed. In the long grass, Fridgar fell onto his back and the creature bit into his leg and Fridgar immediately reacted by ripping it from the beast’s powerful jaws, losing large chunks of his limb in the process. In a frenzy, Fridgar would back up through muddy puddles as the creature followed. In a wild panic, the Lothar would slam his heel into its snout, stunning it briefly as he backed up further.

[Alistair]

So here they were, attempting to gather totems for the Lotharen, who had lost them all in his conflict with the Crown. Alistair was doing this solely for the purpose of science, observing Etzori fauna and seeking to learn of their flowers, plants and other particular natural components of their wilderness; the vines, roots, their moss and forestry, so on and so forth. Little did he realize, they'd be encountering a massive... reptilian beast. Couldn't it have been a River Hyx or something? Or were those only in Rharne . . . ?

"I saw something. Scales, maybe?" he questioned, not quite sure either way. To be entirely honest, his focus had been on the rodent he'd seen climbing a tree to his left. It didn't quite look like a squirrel, it... it flew, descending from that same tree! "Oh my god," he gasped. "It's magnificent. A flying furball."

The only things he'd seen fly in his life had been Sohr Khal, Jacadon and Volareon, and they had all been quite the magnificent creatures. Seeing a bloody rodent gliding about was quite the sight for him - if he had an easel, he'd paint the thing. Perhaps there were even flying puppies here, out in the West.

The mage was so distracted that he barely heard his lover declare: "I'm gonna go punch it." Turning around, he scowled at the man, shaking his head. "No," he stated. "Don't bloody punch the thing, it'll bite your hand off. Haven't you ever heard not to stick your hand near things with such spectacular maws?" The mage shook his head. Of course, Fridgar wasn't going to listen to him. He knew that by now - the man wasn't far from a solid brick in how receptive he was to wise counsel. Instead, he was on the prowl, looking for the thing as if it wouldn't find him first.

And, of course, he found it... and apparently incredibly close to Alistair. As Fridgar had stated, it was indeed behind the dune, stomping its way past the Venora and directly headed towards the large, rowdy Becomer. The creature hissed through its charge, Alistair barely capable of hearing his partner's movements past the loud groaning the crocodile emitted. The mage stepped backward, avoiding contact with the creature, focusing his mind.

As Fridgar came into contact with the beast, Alistair took a breath, an overwhelming sensation resounding throughout his spinal structure. He was utilizing Corpse Molding on himself, a technique of manipulating the bones of the dead, or even the living. While the thing did not need to be re-applied consistently, he had not performed this technique on himself in quite some time, and using Corpse Molding now was something he'd found necessary.

The Crocodile, with its armored scales, would require incredible force to break through. With the fragility of typical human bones, he would not be able to do so, and decided to enhance his durability in preparation for this fight. Fridgar served as his convenient distraction, then, the mage not realizing the damage his lover was dealt as he cleared his mind and rigorously enveloped his skeletal structure with a firm mold. His bones massively grew in strength and durability, the mage empowered to that of his apex state, like before. Necromancy had yet again found its uses, and the mage used it eagerly, drawing his sword from his scabbard as he felt his structure dramatically reinforced. Taking a final breath, he suppressed the voracity of his energy as best he could, before blinking violently at the back of the creature. He attempted to plunge his blade into the crocodile's back, but to no avail, being rejected with mere marks delved into its armored scales.

Alistair leaped down from the beast, finding it difficult with the lack of traction or balance in his legs, yet doing so all the same as his body broke into a roll as he hit the ground. The mage followed the crocodile, attempting to slice through its tail, with only slightly more favorable results.

Looking over to Fridgar, and seeing the man's leg grievously torn, the mage's eyes widened. He had seen his lover mangled, amputated and eviscerated before - yet even in light of those things, he'd not been quite so alarmed as by the wounds he was seeing now. Chunks of his leg were torn off - the man would likely have a difficult time moving, let alone fighting with a beast as powerful as this. Alistair had the strongest instinctual compulsion to get Fridgar to safety, but he knew the man would not appreciate his apparent heroism.

The mage, then, attempted to utilize Wither against the crocodile's back, the creature still distracted by Fridgar. His hand making contact with the beast's armored scales, Alistair found the crocodile's hull rapidly degenerating, its organic matter dissolved within moments. The crocodile turned around and pivoted its body, attempting to snap at Alistair, who blinked away into another barrel roll. His eyes on Fridgar, and then back at the crocodile, the mage bit his lip and attempted to strategize, examining the battlefield and the resources the two had in utilization against this armored fiend. He already had several ideas, and frankly he did not believe this crocodile was ultimately a threat to the two of them. He was far more worried about the Lotharro's wound, which made him quite jittery at the thought of this animal dealing yet more damage to his wounded lover.

► Show Spoiler

Corpse Molding (Fantasia)
Corpse Molding is the pinacle of a Necromancer's corpse manipulation. At this stage the necromancer can warp a dead body like clay, similar to what a Grafter can do, truly coming into their own as a creative power. Corpse Molding allows a Necromancer to easily manipulate all dead flesh and bone into the shapes and directions he or she desires. Stitchborn and Marrows are the result of Corpse Molding. In addition, a Necromancer becomes capable of Bonecraft, a subset of corpse molding specifically around bones. A Necromancer can use Bonecraft to fashion weapons from any bones they find and even flood their own body with their magic, strengthening their bones beneath their skin against damage. It is said few expert necromancers die from falling, strengthening their bones against breaking or damage even as their flesh tears from the force of their impact. There is lore of a necromancer fist fighter who could dent armor with the power of his blows and the strength of his augmented bones.

Wither (Diminuendo)
While Restore quickly regenerates a corpse to its natural state, Wither does the opposite. After learning this ability, an expert necromancer can focus entropic energy around their hands which swiftly rots away any living matter that comes in contact with it. While primarily an expedited tool from Sap, Wither has become an essential part of a necromancer's arsenal in combat. Wither can only be conducted with skin on skin contact. When touched while a necromancer is using Wither, healthy skin will begin to quickly necrotize and rot wherever the necromancer touches. This ability can be fatal if maintained and becomes ever more dangerous after the encounter, as the wound will swiftly become infected without a physician's aid. The touch of a necromancer leaves craters in the skin, can rot the flesh from bone, and turn muscle into rotting slop. Usually a necromancer must maintain contact to maintain the worst of these effects, but any amount of contact while this ability is being used is inadvisable. Armor of any kind but that made of organic matter is effective against this attack. Paired with Lisirra's rotting touch, this ability can be terrifyingly swift and effective.

[Varthakh]

Fridgar kept backing up, the crocodile wouldn’t give him enough ground to turn around with. It would have kept stepping forward and snapping its jaws. Perhaps Fridgar had scared it with the impact to its snout? He would understand the beast's reluctance to close the gap after such a strike, one that had probably broken a bone in the beast's face. Still though, it was hungry, and Fridgar was apparently quite appetising in appearance. Fridgar tried to manoeuvre a kick into the side of its head, only to be warded off by the sudden turn of its maw, threatening to take the limb off if he tried anything. By the immortals, where was Alistair when he needed him?

On the creatures back, or so it seemed. He threw his sword into the beast and Fridgar smiled with relief - only to lose that relief when the sword failed to pierce the creatures natural body armour. "WHAT THE FUCK!?" Fridgar roared and looked down to the beast, impressed as all hell. He wanted it. Something predatory overcame him, a primal desire to taste this beast's blood and make it his new starting totem. It had earned that much with the terror it had inspired in the Lotharro.

Bears were cute and cuddly on one side - Crocodiles were soulless, nothing about them screamed friendly or cuddle-able and he wanted it so bad. It reminded him of his home town in Gauthrel, the terrible deserts to the south that were off limits. Finding a bear totem could wait, he needed this beast's markers. Alistair then did something to injure the beast's shell - one of his necromancy tricks perhaps? Whatever it was, the crocodile turned its attention to Alistair and off Fridgar. Finally, with a moment, Fridgar took his self-totem from his pocket and inspected his leg. He couldn’t move his foot properly, as though the muscle oriented around that body part had been torn out - it felt as though an invisible force was stopping him.

With a hefty sigh, he refreshed his current form and cast Chrysalis. The relatively small, but deep wound took longer than expected to heal, probably because it had to reject foreign substances like mud from the wound. Again, the whole universe threatened to catapult him into heavy overstepping if he even tried to use magic once more - his spark was still weak, it would seem. On the bright side, having a weak spark made it easier to push it into growing stronger, a taxing move like Chrysalis would be enough. His leg healed, leaving plenty of scars in wake of what was missing muscle.

He stood at last, shaky at first as the fresh muscle adjusted to existing. The crocodile seemed to be deciding between Alistair and Fridgar with its wounded back. it took a step to the side in Fridgar's direction and halted, The Lotharro adjusted his stance, ready to take on the monstrosity if it tried anything. The beast would then hiss wildly and pivot, turning tail to flee. It made sense, crocodiles didn't typically like to fight, they were stealth killers. Fridgar didn't know that however, the creature seemed perfectly combat capable which is why he didn't understand its next move. It didn't make its exit without a final 'fuck you', however.

Gathering its momentum, it swung its massive jagged tail through Alistair, if he didn't react it would swipe across his midriff, taking pieces of flesh with the jagged spikes that lined it. And the tail would carry on into Fridgar, who punched the tail at full force as it swung for him. Fuck. Fridgar had not been thinking when he punched the tail, he'd successfully halted its momentum by absorbing it himself, but his knuckles had contacted the creatures armour at his full force and the beast's already high speed. Tears welled in his eyes as the pain wracked his arm, fucking hell did that hurt.

His eyes fell to Alistair "Are you alright, Alistair?" He asked, not having seen if the beast's attack had connected or not. If all was well, then he would run after the crocodile, leap onto its back and pummel the degraded area. If Alistair was wounded, Fridgar would rush to him in a heartbeat, pick him up and make a run for civilisation. The King crocodile would have been nice to have, but it wasn't more important to him than Alistair's wellbeing.

[Gangui]

Ashan 7, 717

Five trials previous, Gangui departed Etzos when he deemed that the Sun had returned long enough for traveling. No one wanted to be caught in a compromising position in the sun-less cold of Cylus. The days were still short and frigid, but the temperature had increased enough to make a man trickle with sweat during any moderate activity (especially with his new armor on). The smell of the plant life awakening again surrounded him heavily, a welcomed change to the shit-filled streets of the enclosed stone city. Despite the area around the Southwood river teaming with activity, Gangui enjoyed the sense of solitude that accompanied overland travel in Etzorsi occupied lands. The mercenaries’ ragged group was small indeed, but blended in perfectly with the other traffic heading towards Foster’s Bay. People didn’t talk much and minded their own business. Unofficially the travelers cooperated with each other to make things easier, but not much more than that.

Riding in between the river and the road seemed to be the place he could be alone for decent while. He was still within a stone’s throw of the caravan. From this position, armored warrior could sometimes see bits and pieces of the river. When he cared to look, he could make out vessels slowly floating with the current that headed south. Gangui cursed the fact he couldn’t afford to take a raft down the river to Foster’s Bay. This was painfully apparent every time he noticed a freight vessel flowing by.

Suddenly a bizarre scene presented itself to Gangui as he approached a sandy area that seemed at first to be a tranquil tendril of the Southwood river. Chirping insects were actually loud enough now to be heard consciously. One hundred or so yards away, the barbarian noticed two grown men tussling with a strange demonic looking creature near a mound of sand. Kicking the horse forward, the barbarian’s instinctual reaction was to ride upon the fight as quick as possible and assist the people who needed help. Was the action innate foolishness or enlightened goodness? That was definitely up to debate to any casual onlooker, but Gangui wasn't aware of such wisdom.

Taking a deep breath, the steel clad warrior stood up in the saddle whilst drawing his bastard sword mid-stride. Covered from head to toe in armor, he felt reasonably secure despite his shield still hanging on the horses' side. He was able to rest tension upon his legs for the most part, which he believed gave him a more solid base to swing his weapon. Gangui trotted onto the scene with the crocodile in between him and the two men. The introduction of sand under-hoof threw off the warrior completely. Although he couldn’t identify exactly what was going on, he could feel the slight thrown off timing. He leaned over and swung an overhead striking towards the monster, “HiyaAah!”

The barbarian leaned over hard in the saddle, because he had not charged his horse close enough to the target. Putting all the pressure on his right knee was painful. Steel reverberating against reptile scale could be felt in Gangui’s arm as he painfully lifted himself back up into the saddle. Forgetting to control the reins while he did this, the horse pivoted wide-left in the sand, “HuuAh!”

Gangui flipped the reins as soon as he had the opportunity. Blinding dust sprayed all about him, as the horse flung his hooves through the white sand. The only thought he had this moment was how painful it was to lean all his weight on the knee like that. Although he was able to accomplish the impressive feat, it was not worth the potentially career ending damage to his body. Re-gripping his bastard sword, he prepared for another strike should it be needed. His tense mind and body ready to pounce in anticipation.

[Maltruism]

The sensation suddenly running through Chief Adviser Vuda's leg was sufficient distraction to insist upon the re-prioritizing of his planned activities for the trial. He knew from which ring on his hand this link came. It was the one which connected him to his newly-rescued Becomer from Andaris.

He left his office, to turn several corners and come to a dead end hall of what were understood to be naught but closets and storage rooms. While this was true, it was also true that the back wall of one of these closets could be raised on smoothly oiled sliders to reveal a panel of arcane symbols and patterns with a few odd, circular notches cut in spaces that suggested a focal point for much of the surrounding symbology.

He took the ring in question and set it firmly into one of these round notches, the resulting portal drawing its way down the length of a central forming seam of rupturing ether, and spreading out symmetrically from it to form a man-high oval of fiery energy. This portal would be automatically extended to manifest at the location of the partner ring to the one he set into the notch.

Vuda preemptively encased himself in hardened air as a long-learned caution against his portal announcing his imminent arrival. If his man, Ferd...garn...or whatever it was...was under attack, his sudden appearance was unlikely to be welcomed with favor. It was not an encouraging thought that his new underling was already in need of rescue, but was high time he actually met the man anyway.

He pulled the ring back from the notch and stepped through the portal to find a riverside landscape he recognized as being several miles from the gate of the city. Already there was chaos. Enough that he considered it possible his arrival might have genuinely gone unnoticed. There was daylight enough to cover the shine from the portal; there was shouting and neighing sufficient to cover the roar of the ether being expended; and there was distraction in the form of a monstrous reptile to draw all eyes away from his position.

One man seemed to notice, though. A somewhat slim fellow with a vaguely aristocratic look, who cast a look his way briefly before returning to the more immediate threat of the beast. And speaking of beast...

There was a giant of a man now making his presence loudly obvious. Vuda was impressed. The fellow must be a good seven feet tall or more, and heavy-set with muscle even for his size. Vuda could feel, by the orientation of the ring, that this was "his man".

There was yet a third man, astride a horse, making efforts to deal with the reptile while remaining mounted. Vuda could almost feel his abdomen straining with the low bending efforts of this rider. He swore he was about to pull a sympathetic muscle watching the man trying to swing his sword and stay on his horse, who was clearly none too keen on getting any closer to the crocodile.

It looked as if the man was about to fall from the back of the horse, so Vuda raised a wall of hardened air to protect him against being devoured by the river monster should that occur. 'If nothing else,' he thought with a smirk, 'the wall will allow him to remain mounted should the imbalance cause the horse to fall sideways against it.'

Once things settled enough that he felt he could distract them by announcing his own presence without someone falling prey to the beast, he stepped forth with the only words that could possibly be running through his mind. They were directed at his man, "Ferd-gern"...or whatever it was.

"WHAT IN 'THELLE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU DAMNED FOOL! I DIDN'T HAVE YOU DRAGGED OUT OF AN ANDARISIAN JAIL CELL TO LOSE YOU TO A RUTTING RIVER MAW! LEAVE IT BE AND COME HERE AT ONCE!"

He did not immediately impose his will through the empathic power of the ring, instead choosing to see what sort of attitude this man had, when reprimanded by his master. Of course, at the first sign of belligerency and violent intent, he would make him crawl...

[Alistair]

The attack did not, in fact, land against Alistair; instead, folds of dense matter cushioned him from the blow, and the thick Abrogative energy wrapped swiftly around the tail of the beast as Alistair further tightened his hold of the tail with the vambraces of his leather armor. Keeping the crocodile tightly locked in his Abrogator's grip, he gave the Lotharen man a nod as he asked of his wellbeing. "I'm fine," he responded. As Fridgar leaped onto the back of the beast to pummel the withered scales his lover had created, though, a man interjected, and the beast viciously attempted to throw the Lothar off its back. Alistair grew cautious, pulling over the hood sewn onto his leather chest armor. He would not be seen here as a mage, considering the damage that could do to his reputation in his home Kingdom.

Altogether, the warrior's move was unimpressive, as his steel merely scraped the back of the crocodile, though luckily he entirely missed Fridgar. Alistair did not offer him a reassuring glance, but instead one of irritation. The beast seemed only more annoyed, as well, flailing hard to attempt to break the Abrogator's dense grip of his tail, trying his hardest to rip through the folds of energy. Alistair did not relent. At his mastery, it was not difficult to maintain such a grasp. The crocodile was not in fact that powerful in its muscular strength - he'd dealt with worse in the form of Damien's minions.

Its flailing did accomplish one thing, though - Fridgar would be thrown off, even despite the voracity of the man's grip. His mate being thrown from the back of the beast, Alistair decided he would end this battle, forming a thin layer around himself and the crocodile to prevent the mounted man from making another move against the creature. This was Alistair's kill.

A Nail appeared, a powerful ability of Rupturing. As it warped through the air, forming something of a glyph among its entryway, the anchor appeared wide over the back of the crocodile. Alistair stepped back, the magical grip tightened enough for his own security. As he did so, massive and jagged projectiles began to rip through the compressed matter, shards and spikes viciously tearing through the back of the creature, impaling the crocodile and pressing him into the ground.

Alistair began to trace the sides of the beast, before standing in front of it, drawing his blade towards its neck. Slicing the jugular of the animal, Alistair watched quietly as massive amounts of blood spurted towards him, dripping and spraying lightly against his thick leather armor, the dying beast roaring and wailing its final breaths. He sighed, his wariness diminishing as he dug his boots into the ground, relaxed.

...Only to let his surrounding environment fully click. The sound of ripping; a tear through the air, a guttural screech to let everyone around know of the intrusion of a Rupturer among their midst. Alistair had heard this during the commotion, but only now did he fully react, looking towards the harsh old mage with a glare of disapproval. That was his way, of course, always - judging at his best, and eradicating at his worst. This had all gotten too radical now, and he was not in the mood for such things.

This trip to the marsh was his penance for hurting Fridgar so dearly the trials before, but now... it had been rudely interrupted, twice. The mage sighed, and began to bend the dense wall he'd formed around himself and the beast. With a flick of his wrists, he began to close the folds, returning the air to its natural stability. Directly afterwards, hearing the violent ranting spawning from the old man's lips, Alistair blinked mere feet from Vuda and pointed his blade towards the man's throat, not three steps away from lunging that same sword through.

"Who do you think you're commanding, you ponce? The Lothar is my companion, not your slave."

[Varthakh]

Thank the immortals that Alistair wasn't hurt! That being said, it was dumb of him to think there was even a possibility that Alistair would end up hurt against an animal, he could probably go toe-to-toe with an immortal! Fridgar leaped at the rotted patch of the beast and mounted its back before laying into it with furious pounding. Without relent or mercy, he pummeled the beast and it put up a fight. It failed its body in a desperate attempt to get the attacker off it. At first, Fridgar resisted, but he eventually couldn't hold on after stubbornly clinging to the beast uselessly. Fridgar was cast to the mud, narrowly avoiding a giant sword as he flew.

Wait what? He'd been so invested in punching rotted crocodile hide that he hadn't noticed the galloping horse or the sword that nearly cut him. Fortunately for the mounted knight, he appeared to be aiming for the croc. Fridgar rolled to his knees and helped himself up while the mystery man tried his own against the croc's thick armour, only to demonstrate his weak strength by failing to pierce it. Fridgar rolled his eyes, dripping with muddy water. His kill was in no danger of getting stolen by the likes of the man who was probably too weak to walk in his tin suit, let alone fight.

Instead, Alistair decided to finish the fight early and steal his kill in the most flashy way he could manage. First, he trapped it like he had to him just two trials ago, then pelted it with spikes with that weird rune thing that he'd used on Fridgar... once the beast was completely immobilized, the mage walked along the helpless creature's side before cutting its throat with his developed musculature. Blood spurt from the open wound in rivers, mixing with the dirty ground in a thick mixture. Fridgar watched in wonder as the crimson mixed with brown before coming to with widened a eye and slipping his now-muddied bag from his shoulders and dropping it in a puddle.

He looked to the knight as he fiddled through the bag's contents. "Better luck next time, dude." he offered pity. While he didnt know what 'shining armour' was hoping to accomplish by leaping into a fight with a crocodile, he could wager that the knight hadn't expected to be so useless. He found the vial of sterilizing alcohol and immediately emptied the last of its contents into the mud before rushing it over to Alistair with a look that spoke 'I can't use the blood if it's mixed with mud, dummy' - it was a very specific sort of look. Without a trill to spare, he held the vial to the stream of blood and let it fill. Once he had the sample he needed, he resealed the vial with the provided cork and set it gently in his bag while fishing for something to break the hide of the beast with.

Precision scissors? No. Chisel? No. Hand saw? ...maybe. He put the saw aside. The super observant Lothar failed to notice the other mage rupture to the scene. Alistair had been sure to wake him up with the crackle of portals in the past, sonic booms too. The mage's show of force really wasn't much in the face of Alistair's power or finesse. It wasn't until Fridgar settled on the hand saw and stood up that he noticed the other man, immediately after his demands toward Fridgar, Alistair blinked to the transgressor and held him at sword point. If they hadn't been in the middle of conflict, Fridgar would have considered swooning comically at Alistair's protective nature.

Instead, he had to say something equally as bad ass in retaliation to the human's pompous attitude. Who did he think he was? King of Etzos? Fridgar's boss? Didn't matter, trills went by without a word from Fridgar as he thought of a suitable come back. "Hey! FUCK YOU!" nailed it. Fridgar bared his teeth in his snarl at the guy, he didn't much care for him without the influence of the ring, it would seem. Whatever, Alistair had it under control. Fridgar would approach the fallen beastie with his bag in one hand and the saw in the other and knelt beside the crocodile.

Without any respect, he yanked at its front leg and put the saw blade to the creature's joint before pressing and pushing the saw. Almost instantly, the blade teeth would snap and bend under Fridgar's strength and the ungiving nature of the beast's armoured plates. Royally pissed, Fridgar threw the broken tool as far as he could and whallopped the croc with a hearty kick. "Cunt Crocodile." he spat and lowered himself to hold his head. Then, an idea came to him "'Honey', can I borrow the sword after youre done with the body?" He asked with the flash of a sadistic grin to the unwelcome mage. He'd purposely refrained from using his lover's name when he was hooded. Meanwhile, he kept an eye on the knight - was he next on the list of men to die today, or was he going to flee?

[Maltruism]

Encased, as he already was, in his hardened air armor, Vuda's eyes locked directly with the young dandy holding the sword toward him. In order to be heard, he'd had to leave his mouth unprotected, as his voice would not carry through the hardened air.

He let his entire head slowly bow, until his eyes came to rest on the tip of the sword. Then he left his head tipped down as his eyes alone slowly rose to once again meet the gaze of the Rupturer before him. He smiled beneath the emphasis of his furrowed brow. He took a step forward as he brought his head back up, letting the sword tip meet his armor. Then he took one more step to push it, and the arm holding it, back.

Feeling that he'd made his point, he reached his abrogative senses out to feel the grain of the young man's Rupturing frequency, and began to 'flatten" the ether that aligned with it, so it could no longer be turned to access any dimension but its current plane. He'd not seen any indication that the swordsman knew Abrogation, so he did not consider that the young man might be able to detect what he was doing.

Being an accomplished Rupturer himself, this process was nearly second nature to him, but could become taxing to both himself and the youngster if it became a contest of wills. But in an effort to mask his mental effort, he worked at a leisurely pace, so he could make "small talk" as a distraction.

"Slave' is it? Well that was not the word I would use. But every culture has its terms for the level of servitude that comes just short of outright slavery. This is what I would call the agreement I struck, through go-betweens, to have that man released from prison in Andaris, where I believe he was scheduled for execution. I rescued him, and now he works for me. And it is NOT for wrestling beasts that I obtained him."

Whether or not Alistair became aware of how Vuda was wresting control of the ether away from him, the old mage would still proceed to take control of the situation. He put his arms casually behind his back as he spoke, his purpose being to be able to give small turns of the ring on his finger. It always helped to "feel" the ring, to better enforce the empathic focus on its partner's host.

He was no longer speaking aloud, so he completed his air shield to encompass his head as well. 'My friend...' he began amiably, in thought alone, directed at the Lothar Becomer, while his eyes remained locked on the Rupturer before him. His thoughts did not need to take the form of actual phrased words, but they carried a bit more control when they did.

Now he let a measure of disappointment enter his mood, 'I'm sure you must feel dreadful shame at having allowed this rude young man to be so threatening to me. Do not let it bother you, He does not understand the debt you owe me. I will let it all be forgotten if you simply get him to apologize to me. Do whatever you must to secure this apology. I want it to be humble, I want it to be sincere. And I want it to be now.'

Having addressed Fridgar in thought alone, Alistair would not know what was being done, beyond it being something that brought a cruel smile to the old mage's expression. And Fridgar would have no innate impulse to resist, given that the command to have his friend apologize would not be an outlandish request, nor one that need involve violence against Alistair. Of course, the crude directive to "do whatever you must" would fall upon his own violent interpretation.

This ring link would never cause friends to actually kill each other, but it could definitely come to blows if Alistair was to persistently refuse. As an after thought, which clearly showed in Vuda's sudden malicious shift of expression, he added, 'Oh and by the way, when you are done, I would like you both to apologize to that young soldier on the horse. His attempt at aid may have been ineffective, but I do not care for such dismissive behavior to those who are trying to help...in MY town!'

[Gangui]

Gangui then witnessed the most raw power that he had ever seen in his time in Etzos. Before he could make another move, the handsome man wearing leather armor created a magic portal above the crocodile. Massive, jagged, otherworldly shards rained down onto the animal pinning it to the ground. Shocked out of his senses, the barbarian blinked in disbelief as Alistair cut the jugular of the animal. Blood splattered everywhere on the man as he displayed nearly no emotion in the action. The barbarian's mouth became dry and tingles rendered up his spine as the appearance of the man left him feeling aroused.

The man's strike was full of such powerful awe inspiring magic which would normally inspire fear in the barbarian, but his face was prettier than any man Gangui had ever seen and actually produced sexual arousal. It wasn't in his nature to feel such emotions with men; such feelings were usually reserved for the dirty whores who tickled his fancy, but this time he couldn't help himself. Shifting in his saddle, Gangui became even more confused as he didn't have a moment to process these thoughts before Vuda blinked himself into the scene making bold statements towards the hairy man. His jaw dropped when handsome man also blinked next to the other mage holding a sword up at the guy. The hairy man seemed angry at the other mage, but was not phased in the slightest at his partner's magic. Gangui barely noticed Fridgar's actions as all his attention was on Alistair at this time.

Blinking until his eyes watered and swallowing some saliva, Gangui didn't know what to do at all. Everything had happened so fast and the emotions coursing through his body where so completely out of place for the situation, he was struct completely useless. Sitting tall in his saddle, his horse neighed and kicked in fear trying to get Gangui to leave the situation, but the barbarian was too interested in what would happen next to leave. Calming the horse down waited in silence, sword hanging loosely in his grip.

Biting down, he waited in silence as the two mages argued. His right eye began to twitch when Vuda requested an apology from Alistair. That's when his mind finally caught up with him. Not knowing the effects of Sesser, nor believing he was a homosexual, he decided that the reason he was feeling so attracted to Alistair was because the display of raw power. He also remembered the words of his father: "Bold and brave men are the ones who make progress".

The steely courage of his soul finally found itself and Gangui edged his horse forward. This might be his only opportunity to gain the power he seeked in order to achieve revenge against Faldrun. He dismounted roughly somewhere between Fridgar's location and the stand off between Vuda and Alistair. The moment his feet hit the floor, his right knee buckled under his weight; the acrobatic maneuver he had attempted earlier was out of his skill level and had done a number on his knee.

Genuflecting in front of both mages, he unconsciously stuck his sword on the ground and leaned on it. Wincing in pain, he gasped for air then said his piece mainly looking at Vuda, whom seemed to be more on his side based on his previous statements.

"I... I am an Etzorsi patriot... show me power... Show me, so I may take my revenge on Faldrun himself,"

Gangui was aware that he had un-wittedly inserted himself at the worst possible time into a conflict that he had no place in. He was however completely unaware of the implications of his action. The discipline he had over his emotions was completely lacking and his courage overrode all sensible, logical thoughts of safety.

ooc

I apologize for taking so long to reply, it was not my intention, but got busy. I hope my post works for yall, despite only contributing one line of dialogue to the plot. Please communicate with me if I got anything wrong in my play. Thanks

[Alistair]

Fridgar taunted, as always, the two of them aligned in their distaste for outside influences. "Honey, you can turn his scalp into a wall decoration if that's what you want. Remember what I said to that Mortalborn in the woods? About the tongue of the haughty bitch? This man is even more indignant." The mage smirked, though he didn't hold his expression for long.

The man drew closer, foolishly, pressing his hardened air into the blade that Alistair held firmly within his grasp. The mage understood Abrogation - he understood all of the precepts of it, being a master of it himself. This mage was similar to him, as both a Rupturer and an Abrogator. While Alistair felt that he'd been using too much magic of late, and he could feel himself begin to go lightheaded, he decided he would perform one final ability before the end of this whole dispute. He would show this wrinkled, cackling abomination his power, and would not allow it to be forgotten.

As Vuda pressed the folds into the sword tauntingly, Alistair splintered the hardened air, cutting the distance between his sword and Vuda's apparel. He took a quick step forward, plunging his sword into the man as deeply as he could before the old fool inevitably blinked away or performed some block via his abrogative folds. Even if he encountered resistance in performing the splinter, Alistair would inevitably prevail in doing so, utilizing his legendary capability in the magic to the dismay of the robed opposition.

The splinter was a cheap technique, both in its execution and its cost. He did not fear that he would be drained any further, and if Vuda did not properly react in time to the crackling energy ripping through the space and distance of his folds, he would be impaled through the chest by the mage he seemed to mock.

"Fridgar is mine," the mage whispered, a bloodlust in his eyes. Perhaps by his blatant territoriality, or by his desire to dominate other magisters, he had become far more sheer and brutal than he'd been even moments prior. Fridgar is mine, he repeated in his head, eyes cold and calculated as the first time he'd plunged through the heart of a man such as this. Lucas, Elias, Grayson, Icarus, Andreas, Galador. Many corpses preceded Vuda.

Regardless of whether or not he managed to persuade Alistair's mate with the ring, the mage was prepared to murder this old crone if he did not back off, and he was only a portal away from bringing forth Icarus and Andreas both to corner and execute the foolish old man. It didn't matter who he was; this wasn't Rynmere, Alistair didn't have to deal with the bureaucracy or the laws. He was not tethered to this place, and he had proven that in the atrocities he'd committed not far from the marsh on which they stood, long prior to these days.

Of course, the other man on the horse arrived, falling into his blade and making known his patriotism to the domain of Etzos. Alistair scoffed.

"If you're an Etzori patriot, then expunge the filth that lies before you. I am not an enemy of yours, and indeed I am an adversary to the Immortals. I simply take issue with another claiming ownership of my partner. Fridgar belongs to no one. That is the promise I made to him some time ago, and I intend to keep it. Back off my mate or see the Coven's talons rake across your skin." He said this with a visceral tone, a near hiss in his tone as he glared at Vuda, keeping Gangui in his peripheral. The mage's hand rose, a gesture that signaled he would open a portal and let the Coven flow through if he didn't get what he wanted. While this gave Vuda time to prepare counteractions against his Rupturing, Alistair didn't really mind, as he knew he could oust the man's resistance if it came to it.