OOC- i am back.... i'm going to overlook the fact that you guys are fucking the threads up. In the future, if you have a complaint, complain about it in the dISCUSSION forum or in your next post OOC... Des should not have posted OOC anyways in the first place since it obviously set a bad example for others to follow. Now lets on with it. o and tam, pls pls try to spell correctly , i know its hard when u are typing fast

IC- The demons lay on the ground.
they looked like a pair of bloodied dancers in a dark ritual, with the grass around them almost dyed black.
Tam Lyn had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, and it was Xandim? on the ground with an arrow in the back of his neck.
At that moment there was a short , short lull in the winds and the airs of things, but momentarily.. it could be a short moment for things that lived slowly, but another way if the being lived a fast life...
relatively
vAldiCi stood in the wind, noticing the short period of nothing blowing by his elven years, and he sharpened his mind to be attentive of this effect. The pentagram was still there..
What surprised him and even more so, draskireis, was the fact that when Tam Lyn entered the confines of the pentagram he was not affected in any way what so ever...
But the lull showed itself.. in fact it was waiting.

The ageless warrior stiffened in posture as he was praying, his eyes widening in pain , his mouth crying a silent scream. Xandim was not dead. It held the warrior inside its pentagram, the connection with the worlds healing and strengthening his power..
It was painful to even watch the ordeal Tam Lyn was going through right now..

things not of this world...
could never be taken for granted, could they now?
The new fight had begun anew.

OOC - Alright I KNOW im not supposed to do this, as well as what I did before. I double posted, and like, swore and stuff, and got under alot of people's skin. Id like to apologize for that all, sorry. BTW - word from the wise, don't post while pissed.

IC - Xandim had been to hell and back, from means unknown. He had been on the gate to satan's lair, when a force had pulled him back up the firey pits, into the world he once new. Now he was laying on the ground, close to Tam, inside the Pentagram. He was supposed to be dead, but was not. He would never be whole again, he could not. When you defy your rightful passage, you live a tainted life... this was now Xandim's life. But forget about curses and such, he was alive, and as such, he had certain obligations to obey to. The rage once again erupted in his mind, the hatred filled through his veins. Blood pulsated through his body, taking a giant breath, Xandim sat upright. Instant shock.

Who wouldn't be shocked? You would think that one who has passed away, and been rescued, would be somewhat tranquil and grateful for what happened. Yet Xandim seemed even more pissed off than usual...

"YOU ALL SHALL DIE," a bloodthirsty warning rang out through the field, as Xandim slowly got to his feet. "Xandim..." was all val could mutter. Xandim could see the shake as the AtW heard this. He charged forward, straight ahead to Drask the almighty dragon, sword unsheathed, he swung at the dragon. It had been a careless swing, which Drask parried easily. Xandim and Drask looked straight into each others eyes, confidence, fatigue and experience showiing in Drasks. Xandim had to strike hard, quick and precise before Drask knew what to do. Xandim knew that Drask could not kill him, for he was an AtW all too short ago, and was under the influence of their enemy. So the battle began, Xandim swinging madly, while Drask, the smaller of the two, was trying to stay out of harms way, debating what to do. "Dueling is like dancing with a partner you hate." (Qoute - Drask)

Xandim jabbed at Drask with his sword, which was blocked by the sword. Xandim spun, using the momentum as he swung at Drask. Having little time, Drask stuck his sword out in desperation, slicing Xandim on his left side. Both had been injured in this fight, yet it carried on, both sides becoming fasters and stronger. Swing high, ducked. Sweep low, backstep. Head to toe slice, parried, kick in the leg, success. Drask lost his footing and stumbled, only for a split second. This was all the time Xandim needed as he brought his sword down across Drask's chest, leaving an easily noticeable bloodline. Xandim's sword glowed, the blood disappearing as the blade glew brighter. Drask had been defeated, unable to fully duel this being. With a snarl, Xandim looked around for Tam Lyn, the one who had killed him with a wellguided bow. HE didnt have to look far, for Tam had his bow cocked, aimed at his neck again.

"Finish the dragon..." a voice echoed in Xandim's head. "No, I have done what I wanted, I have beaten him in battle." "KILL THE DRAGON!" the voice screeched. Xandim fell to his knees, clutching his head. He crawled over to the Pentagram, which began to emit a purewhite light. "Kill the dragon or be killed. This is your only warning." the voice spoke again. A hand touched his shoulder. It was Drask. "You are one dead son of a bitch brothoohhh sHIT," Xandim jerked slightly as the surroundings changed. He and Drask had been transported to an arena, where a giant human, glad in dark blue armor stood, two swords showing, lusting for flesh. Hatred once again emerged from Xandim as he looked at this. This being HAD TO DIE. IT HAD TO.

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The daemon and dragon duo had disappeared, the pentagram shimmering. What replaced these two was perhaps more terrifying. The blackest, most foulest dragonman appeared. IT was Bartoghen, the gatekeeper of hell. Xandim rages and hatred could not compare to this beings, for the AtW had stolen what was rightfully his realms, and he wanted it back, as well as to kill those who had stolen it.

OOC - Well, making it confusing and stuff. Xandim will attack you IF this being is killed. if it isnt killed he will seek it out to kill it. The rest of AtW... you are fighting this being after Xandim. Keep in mind Neit is still in this, as well as Dimindum and can interfere via the pentragram at almost any time.

OOC--interesting sentiments, Xandim. I, however disagree: someof my best posts have occurred when I was pissed beyond hell. And Drask's weapons are a staff (Thornfire) and a tailsword. And also--I liked your quote of mine: I'd forgotten that I'd said something that cool. But that's an example of my posting when I was almost incoherently angry.

IC--Drask had a chest wound, which was not so bad as it seemed: the chest scales were less impregnable than the rest of him, and as such, bled profusely. Wherever it touched the ground, it hissed and steamed as its acidic nature burned into the ground. And then... the air shimmered, and was gone. No more was he surrounded by AtW of present and past, now it was only a fouler thing than any he had seen--a friend now driven to madness by Dimindium's tainted touch, goaded on by his own desire to best an inhuman adversary who'd never realized his arrogance. Xandim, the creature of Hell. Xandim, the divided soul. Xandim, the silently broken. Xandim, the possibly redeemed.

The wounded dragon, bested, turned and bowed his head to the half-daemon. 'Well fought. You have won the dance of death. I owe you my life, for you did not take it. Perhaps here I can win it back by saving yours, just as I intend to save my own. But look upon yourself: you were driven, it seems to me, by your hatred of me. Now you have bested me, and where does that leave you, foul thing that you have become? WHat now? What greater and harder to reach goal have you in mind? The complete and utter decimation of your former friends? Surely you understand that Amiadus, the First Fallen, would never allow one of her wayward sons to sweep her children from the face of this earth. You are the fourth to feel the taint of Dimindium's touch, the all consuming rage that comes when one feels the loss of hope for a better future. I know that pain. I know that rage. It boils still inside my heart, waiting to erupt again into the spirit of Mak'tar'Eryin, a Dragon Death Spirit. I know the rage and hate it, fear it. I strive to keep it in check, but in Il Dansher Aim Mikkaeri, the anger flows in the direction of a sword, in the spin of a thorny staff. You have my life, you have my pity, and you have my aid, if you so desire. Now, let us be reconciled, that we may take out this gatekeeper and return to aid our friends. For you are even yet a WarAngel, and the blood of Altair flows in your veins, willing or no.'

The thing glared at him, but seemed to show a little more feeling, a little more understanding... A little care? That might be too much to ask, too soon. It nodded, saying in the harsh tongue of the Dragons of Tamarst--in-speaking into Drask's very brain as Ban had once done--'It is done.'

They turned as one to fight the child of Ymir, the great blue giant of myth from whose fallen corpse a world was said to have been formed. Not this one, surely, but one of the myriad worlds in the multiverse watched over by the Goddess. It carried a great, oaken cudgel, studded with the spikes used to hold the bottom stones of castle walls in place during its construction. It roared, a deafening sound, as it beat its chestplate with great fist and greater cudgel. The giant dwarfed both the dragon and the half-daemon, one of the spikes from its club nearly as long as the entire length of Thornfire. It looked down at its puny foes and laughed, the derision as painful to courage as the volume was to hearing.

'Remember, my friend, there is but one rule to dueling: cut. Quickly, decisively. Cut. With grim purpose, with finality. Cut. Faster than the target, faster than thought, faster than reaction. Sacrifice defense as a gain for offense. Give over to rage. Cut. Exist simultaneously in every weapon, each focused on the one single other entity in existence. Cut.'

Xandim smiled, nodding, and replied with the other rule. 'Live, Dragon.'

And the battle was joined as a black cloud of human and hatred joined forces with a crimson blur of battle rage.

Xandim ranged in, swords glowing black with hate, grey with hope. He engaged the giants knee until he was kicked backwards towards the side of the arena... The giant's shin, however, was broken. It lurched around the arena, shouting obscenities in some terrible (and fortunately, foreign) tongue. THe cudgel kept the unlikely pair moving about frequently, but it rarely got close enough to actually cause worry. When it did, Drask rolled around on the dusty floor of the arena.

Drask began to cast a spell as a spike lodged in the ground near him.

OOC--cutting the post short, since SE's bitching at me that he's gotta read this... lol =P

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Only the dead have seen the end of war.
--Plato

OCC: We da type a people make da club get chrome.

IC:

"Hey Man..." A scruffy looking human walked into the clearing. "What's all the racket man...?" A skunky cloud enveloped the newcomer. Suddenly he was coughing violently. It was then that the War Angels noticed he was wearing armor underneth his slightly torn pyjama-esque tunic and and pants.

"Romulus?!?"

The man finished his coughing fit.

"Hey guys..."

The elf walked over briskly. "Are you stoned?"

With the eyes of the virgin Mary herself, "Absolutly not." He tried his damndest to keep a straight face. "AHHHH!!! Hahahaha!!! Phllllltt!!!"

"Shit, Romu..."

"HAHAHAAHAH!!!!!"

"shut up."

"AHHHHH!!HAHAHA!!!"

He was still laughing when the elf's wooden staff came down on his skull with frightening accuracy. "THUNK!"

He didn't fall so much as crumple to the floor.

"Come back when you're ready to fight. Damn humans.... And take a bath!"


OOC: Pipeweed anyone?

***Knowledge without Goodness is Dangerous
and Goodness without Knowledge is Weak.***

***Knowledge without Goodness is Dangerous
and Goodness without Knowledge is Weak.***