7th of Ashan, Arc 718
(This is for my 103>106 Medium Renown Reward skill boost for Polearms. Previous thread here: /viewtopic.php?f=232&t=11332 )
He moved like a cat, clawing, leaping forward and back at the most singular and minimal risks. When the snake tried to lunge with his fangs, the cat reeled, its paws crushing bits of dirt as it swung to the side, jabbing at the snake. On and on, this battle reigned; paw against fang, venom against claw. Alistair slid and skid and lunged, and Deovan turned the tides with a side-step and a swipe. Somewhere along the line, it was almost like he'd forgotten himself.
He was a Shadowdancer - he was supposed to be a cat, a snake and a shadow all at once, with Deovan the one striking and faltering. But he could scarcely get Deovan to take the initiative. With two reactive fighters, the one with superior skill and confidence would make the offensive moves, but by doing so they essentially evened the playing field.
For hours this morning, and the last, they had fought. Man against minion, Lord against Revenant. It kept on, because for the two with their nigh-endless endurance, the fight did not need to cease.
Deovan had regenerated a great deal; shoulders, forearms, biceps, thighs, calves, hamstrings. He'd lost them all repeatedly, and gained them back. Not once had he made any injury against Kian save for scrapes, scratches and bruises, but it was at this moment that the trend ended. Deovan faked out the mage and slid onto his knees, and finally, he stabbed shallowly into the Necromancer's lower chest, not far above his hip. The mage grit his teeth and evaded back, preventing the blade from going any deeper.
Then, immediately, he ripped Leechbane from his pouch and slathered the gel along the surface of the wound. He was a resilient, strong man, surpassing even Lotharro in endurance. Much of his skin and flesh was like a light armor, and so he sustained very minimal damage from attacks that were not fully committed. Deovan's blade could not easily pierce his thick flesh, and thus, the blade didn't go far.
His eyes shifted to an amber shade; the mark of Sesser went alive, and his injury began the process of recovery. Unlike with a Revenant it was not a rapid process, but within hours he would likely have recovered from it. In many ways, Kian was akin to the undead that he raised. He aged slowly, did not falter from hunger or loss of stamina, and he recovered at an unnatural rate. Many of these gifts were based on his own intensive training, but his vitality was supplemented by the mark of Syroa.
So one would assume that with near endless stamina, and with the speed at which his body recovered - thus even further extending his stamina - several hours of constant fighting would still not be enough to wear him down. Unfortunately, such assumptions would be wrong. Kian had been fighting all morning and all of the night prior, keeping himself in perfect form and matching or surpassing an undead terror with literally infinite endurance. Every blow he landed on Deovan simply regenerated, and he refused to seriously incapacitate him. He wasn't even very physically worn out, but mentally, he was exhausted. The stress of having to precisely match a Necromantic abomination like Deovan for hours on end was immense.
The unfortunate truth was, he'd made no progress, and so he performed his dance - back and forth - with the constant intent of successfully performing the Shadowsting, but failing each and every time.
While he was supposed to surpass the man's speed on a consistent basis, he had not been able to do so. Each change to his stance or the way he held his spear merely forced him to adapt to a new and uncomfortable form, which was not easy. He'd begun to give up on disarming someone like Deovan, determining that perhaps a more lethal foe needed to be killed outright. He'd had the opportunity to destroy Deovan a thousand times, but not one opportunity to easily disarm his blade. Was there any purpose of attempting the Shadow Sting on a foe like that? It was almost as if he were trying it for the sake of style alone.
And then he thought about it. Shadowdancing was an adaptive style. Some of the abilities wouldn't work on everyone, but that was fine, right? The form alone was enough to handle quick and agile opponents, he'd always thought, whereas the specialized swings and strikes tended to work more on traditional opponents. Specialized fighters like Deovan were not the focus of this style. It was men like... Veljorn, or Riordan Aelothar. It was Knights, Skyriders, Jegers, Mantis, Qe'Dreki, guards, soldiers. Agile fighters existed to counter non-agile ones.
And maybe that was just his limitation. Maybe he would only ever go toe-to-toe with people like Deovan, anyone who'd actually matched up to his agility.
So what was the alternative? He had an idea, and a name. It was time to put it to the test.
(This is for my 103>106 Medium Renown Reward skill boost for Polearms. Previous thread here: /viewtopic.php?f=232&t=11332 )
He moved like a cat, clawing, leaping forward and back at the most singular and minimal risks. When the snake tried to lunge with his fangs, the cat reeled, its paws crushing bits of dirt as it swung to the side, jabbing at the snake. On and on, this battle reigned; paw against fang, venom against claw. Alistair slid and skid and lunged, and Deovan turned the tides with a side-step and a swipe. Somewhere along the line, it was almost like he'd forgotten himself.
He was a Shadowdancer - he was supposed to be a cat, a snake and a shadow all at once, with Deovan the one striking and faltering. But he could scarcely get Deovan to take the initiative. With two reactive fighters, the one with superior skill and confidence would make the offensive moves, but by doing so they essentially evened the playing field.
For hours this morning, and the last, they had fought. Man against minion, Lord against Revenant. It kept on, because for the two with their nigh-endless endurance, the fight did not need to cease.
Deovan had regenerated a great deal; shoulders, forearms, biceps, thighs, calves, hamstrings. He'd lost them all repeatedly, and gained them back. Not once had he made any injury against Kian save for scrapes, scratches and bruises, but it was at this moment that the trend ended. Deovan faked out the mage and slid onto his knees, and finally, he stabbed shallowly into the Necromancer's lower chest, not far above his hip. The mage grit his teeth and evaded back, preventing the blade from going any deeper.
Then, immediately, he ripped Leechbane from his pouch and slathered the gel along the surface of the wound. He was a resilient, strong man, surpassing even Lotharro in endurance. Much of his skin and flesh was like a light armor, and so he sustained very minimal damage from attacks that were not fully committed. Deovan's blade could not easily pierce his thick flesh, and thus, the blade didn't go far.
His eyes shifted to an amber shade; the mark of Sesser went alive, and his injury began the process of recovery. Unlike with a Revenant it was not a rapid process, but within hours he would likely have recovered from it. In many ways, Kian was akin to the undead that he raised. He aged slowly, did not falter from hunger or loss of stamina, and he recovered at an unnatural rate. Many of these gifts were based on his own intensive training, but his vitality was supplemented by the mark of Syroa.
So one would assume that with near endless stamina, and with the speed at which his body recovered - thus even further extending his stamina - several hours of constant fighting would still not be enough to wear him down. Unfortunately, such assumptions would be wrong. Kian had been fighting all morning and all of the night prior, keeping himself in perfect form and matching or surpassing an undead terror with literally infinite endurance. Every blow he landed on Deovan simply regenerated, and he refused to seriously incapacitate him. He wasn't even very physically worn out, but mentally, he was exhausted. The stress of having to precisely match a Necromantic abomination like Deovan for hours on end was immense.
The unfortunate truth was, he'd made no progress, and so he performed his dance - back and forth - with the constant intent of successfully performing the Shadowsting, but failing each and every time.
While he was supposed to surpass the man's speed on a consistent basis, he had not been able to do so. Each change to his stance or the way he held his spear merely forced him to adapt to a new and uncomfortable form, which was not easy. He'd begun to give up on disarming someone like Deovan, determining that perhaps a more lethal foe needed to be killed outright. He'd had the opportunity to destroy Deovan a thousand times, but not one opportunity to easily disarm his blade. Was there any purpose of attempting the Shadow Sting on a foe like that? It was almost as if he were trying it for the sake of style alone.
And then he thought about it. Shadowdancing was an adaptive style. Some of the abilities wouldn't work on everyone, but that was fine, right? The form alone was enough to handle quick and agile opponents, he'd always thought, whereas the specialized swings and strikes tended to work more on traditional opponents. Specialized fighters like Deovan were not the focus of this style. It was men like... Veljorn, or Riordan Aelothar. It was Knights, Skyriders, Jegers, Mantis, Qe'Dreki, guards, soldiers. Agile fighters existed to counter non-agile ones.
And maybe that was just his limitation. Maybe he would only ever go toe-to-toe with people like Deovan, anyone who'd actually matched up to his agility.
So what was the alternative? He had an idea, and a name. It was time to put it to the test.
