Post by The Might of Demacia on Nov 4, 2013 19:29:15 GMT -5
Bearing witness and saying nothing was perhaps a silent order given to him by the tone of his Prince's voice. Now that it seemed negotiations were over, Garen would look onward to the frozen island and towards the delegates of the Shadow Isles as his Prince returned to the vessel to sail them home. Garen's scarf fluttered in a gentle breeze and his ears a little numb from the cold, but the Vanguard's solid expression did not falter as he eyed the summoner that seemed to have acted against the Shadow Isle delegates. Jarvan's words denoted her as an enemy, but it did not change the fact that she was a summoner. Surely no harm would come to her as...
Darkness.
Garen's heartbeat suddenly jumped in pace, as if he was just done sprinting, and his eyes were wide and shooting back and forth as he tried to visualize who or what could be in danger. The echoing sound in his mind then alerted him of what he had to do. After all, there's only one summoner in question that would be a target for Nocturne. Garen raised his sword, the blade glowing in bright gold like a beacon in the middle of the dark, and he sprinted with such frightening speed towards the location of Kiestra, one who he suspected was the target. His paced breathing echoed in his mind, and the ice cracking beneath his feet as he ran to the summoner filled his senses.
He didn't see the summoner until she was quite literally in front of him. Garen's titanic frame might have scared Kiestra, but he left her no time to react to Demacia's juggernaut running full speed at her. Garen pulled Kiestra to his chest, wrapping his left arm around her and pressing her against his chestplate as he faced the Demacian vessels, his back to the Shadow Isles's. He also placed his sword upon his back to act as a shield, the broadness of his blade serving that purpose since he acquired it.
"Traitor or not, no one should die here," Garen said.
Post by The Shadow of War on Nov 7, 2013 1:44:12 GMT -5
'These talks are finished'. The last words Hecarim heard before he had finally reached his limit, now it would seem everyone was just trying their hardest to irritate him. He had been calm for far too long, but this. This was simply disrespect on another level, and since peace was out of the option there was only one thing for Hecarim to bring those who were lost in the world of the living attached to their flesh and pitiful dreams.
Freedom.
Upon hearing his king call for Nocturne to rip them apart Hecarim took it upon himself to join the fray with or without his kings consent. He gripped his halberd and pulled it out of the ice, once it was firmly in it's masters hands he looked it over with a grin of malice, he intended to feed the weapon with blood on these seas, Demacian blood to be exact.
Hecarim would start his assault by raising his halberd just above his head and channeling his soul magic into it, though the centaur prefers not to rely on such weakness such as magic but being pushed into this kind of situation gives one very few options. Soon after the channeling red fire instead of the usual cyan began to pour from the halberd into and around Hecarim, though to most this would be seen as just a visual change from cyan to bright red, but this fire was special... it would actually cause harm if a fleshling were to touch him, or if he were to touch them.
With his new coat of pain now fueling him and swirling around him, he started to make a bold charge for Jarvan leading with his halberd- and then the darkness was set upon them, though there was no hysteria of screams to be heard... immediately anyway, regardless of his current environment Hecarim was out for blood, the sound of his hooves hitting the ice island could be heard by all as he simply ignored the summoner and Garen's existence. Nocturne had his target, now Hecarim had his.
Post by Dungeon Master on Nov 7, 2013 21:00:58 GMT -5
The Seneschal watched with nerves hardened beyond the breaking point of most men. He would have waded calmly through a tide of blood, but as the light faded from the world his mind reeled out of his unbroken grasp like so much smoke. The undead horseman ran toward him and disappeared as Nocturne's magic charged ahead of him. He kept himself close to the prince, weapon in hand.
The darkness came like a crashing wave, and he steeled himself against the pain that he knew would follow. This was his charge, his last order from the King. Protect my son at all costs. It didn't hurt him to be asked to give up his life. Xin would give it freely when called to. Here. Now. On land or on this ice. His vision grew dark as the smoke filled the air. It shimmered from ice into red earth littered with the disemboweled dead, into a blur of blows and blood, all screams and swinging weapons. For a matter of seconds the horror of his past flooded through and around his hard earned defenses. His eyes went wide as the vision passed, his body trembled, and it almost brought him to tears. Almost. This was not a new pain, and it passed off of him like water as he made himself a stone. The past is gone. He turned away the feeling with both hands, as he would turn aside a charging bull. "DEMACIAAA!", he screamed in defiance.
His mind was clearing, but still he could barely make out the form of the prince beside him. He would return the prince to his fathers side, or he would die trying. The seneschal readied his weapon and together with Jarvan IV he faced the hidden shadow of war. All around them was black.
Post by Dungeon Master on Nov 8, 2013 21:07:31 GMT -5
Sailors crowded the deck of the Demacian ship as the delegations took place below them. A studious carpenter stood at the forecastle, taking fevered notes on the undead warship as he tried to puzzle out how such a vessel could even float, let alone sail. Concerned warriors took keen interest in the island of ice, whispering in low tones of anger and hatred as they watched the events unfold. Yet the vast majority of the men on deck stood by with buckets of water, eyes affixed to the more present threat.
Tongues of flame flickered around her as she paced port side deck with wide strides. Shyvana had been left behind to watch the ship. Some whispered that she was too volatile to be trusted on the neutral ground, others that she had done grave insult to the Prince to warrant such a punishment. Yet in the presence of her seething rage, all were silent. No man dared approach the half-dragon but to dash water upon the threatened deck: a fire this far at sea would mean death to them all. This woman, this beast could well kill them all.
And as the peace talks degraded into chaos, the flames burned hotter.
All on deck flinched not at the appearance of the Eternal Nightmare itself but the less-than-human guttural roar issued from Shyvana’s throat. As darkness descended upon the Demacian deck, fire erupted in great torrents, a momentary beacon of light before the overwhelming shadows replaced that pyre with the each sailor’s worst nightmares.
Post by Kiersta Mandrake on Nov 11, 2013 4:08:07 GMT -5
To be called a traitor for doing a requested job was hardly new to the High Councilor. Together with her fellows, she had seen fit to declare herself a traitor to the prevailing politics of the land. To set aside the differences of Noxian and Demacian, the injustices and war crime, the pure hatred and patriotism of both these countries to prevent the world from collapsing under their narrow-minded views. She had hoped that in asking her here, the young prince had taken to heart the lesson that founded the Institute of War, but it appeared that despite his training as next in line to the Demacian throne, he was still trapped in a world of his own desires, longing not for peace and safety for his people but the hand of the woman who was taken from him. As he turned his back, she knew the discussions were done, and signing inwardly as she glanced back to the Ruined King: the young prince still had much to learn, but perhaps the mission could be salvaged.
Kiersta watched the Ruined King’s stoicism carefully awaiting a response. As the seconds ticked by, the fire in his helm seemed to fade, finally to reveal his true eyes behind the mask of fire. They spoke of disaster. Kiersta frowned at his whispered words: a warning? A threat? Before she could take even a single step toward her own vessel, he drew a vicious blade from the air itself, an implement of death that could have no other purpose: he meant to continue his war on neutral ground. She raised her hand’s, the words of power tingling on her lips when he called the only name that would give her pause.
Nocturne. The unfathomable creature of terror, born of the minds of summoners at the Institute with but one clear purpose: to destroy what she had built. The shadows spread swiftly, deadening the splash of the waves and the steady flap of the wind in furled sails. Naught but silence remained, and Keirsta knew that she alone would be the shadow’s target. The Demacians would have to fend for themselves as this meeting crumbled, for Kiersta could not allow herself to be distracted for a minute from the eternal nightmare.
The silence rapidly became oppressive, every shadow seeming to twitch and dance in her vision as she waited the Nightmare’s inevitable attack. Then, from the fringe of shadow she caught the gleaming of his eyes. With but one word, he launched himself forward, scythe-like arm screaming through the air. Her fingers twitched, the light of magic began to trace a rune before her in the air, and then the world collapsed upon her. Kirsta gasped for breath after the force of Garen’s impact. Clutched between his gauntlet and the hard metal plate of his armor, she was naught but a child’s doll, to be tossed about with reckless abandon. Dazed as she was, Kiersta took the indignation in stride, searching wide eyed for an opportunity to ragoin any modicum of control.
In the depths of the summoner’s ship, the chanting stopped, and with it, the ice ceased its spread. They arrayed themselves defensively, back to back that they might have a chance to keep the shadow at bay.
Post by The Ruined King on Nov 17, 2013 16:44:47 GMT -5
Nocturne's shroud of paranoid spread across the ice causing complete and utter silence to fall. The Ruined King was never afraid of the dark, he was prepared for this to happen, as it was by his command, he was no as surprised as the others. His eyes however saw nothing but darkness before him, yet he marched forward. Heavy black steel boots encased the feet that now moved across the ice, the King's eyes reigniting with the cyan spirit fire... small flickering lights came into his view, an background of darkness. These were what his mind could comprehend as their souls, burning brightly in the darkness.
He was all but blinded because of Nocturne, yet he saw their souls and would use that to his advantage. He saw the summoner's, flickering brightly against the wall of black, and other blazing brightly as it rushed toward the summoner, a Demacian no doubt hoping to protect the summoner from Nocturne. He saw Hecarim's, tainted with the power of the Shadow Isles, charging forward towards another, it looked to be where Jarvan had been standing. Nearby, he could see the soul of Xin Zhao, he could feel the power flowing from each of them. Such power he could gain from ripping them from their host and stripping them of their essence. This would be interesting indeed.
The Ruined King advanced through the twisting darkness toward Xin Zhao, the soldier had fallen once to one of his thralls. This time, he would not find it so easy to escape from dying. It was as though the soul had been stolen from the Ruined King, and now it taunted him with it's presence here. Even if it was only in the King's mind, he would obtain it once more, no lich would save him now.
I am the one who defied death. I am the one he fears. I am the on he can not take. One sweep of my hand and your nations will fall. Come for me you worms. You will all bow before my legions or be broken beneath us as we march upon your cities.
Post by The Half-Dragon on Nov 17, 2013 17:32:43 GMT -5
The Half-Dragon stood there, looking at the shroud of darkness that covered the island. Taking quick breaths she could feel her rage burning inside her, they will pay. Backing up against the ship until a railing touched her back, narrowing her eyes she rushed across the deck leaping out from the ship. The flames that had been flickering around her covered her entirely. As the flames was the brightest a deafening roar echoed out over the island.
The flames disappeared and Shyvana flew through the air and roars again, the scum of the Shadow Isles was going to pay. Shyvana circled the shroud twice before finding a spot where she thought no Demacian was standing in. Moving her wings through the air she gained height, once she flapped, twice she flapped three times before angling herself downwards and pulling in her wings close to her body. Roaring again before spreading her wings to break the fall. She was wrapped in shadows, the nightmare's darkness seemed not to care about her fire that would have illuminated it enough for anyone to see through, even with her enhanced vision she couldn't see anything but a few feet in front of her.
She landed hard, but managed to keep herself on her feet. Listening she could hear the steps of someone heavy, the Centaur? No, these steps were different, but where was he? Shyvana was going to rip him apart, piece by piece. They had hurt Demacia and now they are going to pay dearly for it!
Post by The Ruined King on Dec 18, 2013 14:52:35 GMT -5
Through the King's eyes he saw what seemed to be a great blazing fiery ball circling the shroud through the darkness of Nocturne's shroud. A frown creased his brow, what could have such a powerful soul? His eyes locked upon it as it circled once me, Hecarim and Nocturne should be fine without his intervention for the meantime, he had to decide if he should engage such a creature. Then is decended, all around the vision of the soul, darkness clawed to contain it. The soul burned brightly as it plummeted down, yet the Nightmares Paranoia would more than likely be enough to snuff out any light bright by the soul. Then the roar.
The Ruined King smirked, it was the half breed mongrel. No fear shook the King's heart as he approached, his blade swarming with dark energy. Without stopping he raised his blade, the dragon would fall because she could not contain her own fury. He swung his blade in a diagonal arc, left should to right hip, black magic tore away from his blade, slicing through the air toward the blazing soul he saw before him. Should it connect, the dragon would have a very large, and very painful would tear itself open upon her torso.
I am the one who defied death. I am the one he fears. I am the on he can not take. One sweep of my hand and your nations will fall. Come for me you worms. You will all bow before my legions or be broken beneath us as we march upon your cities.
Post by Kiersta Mandrake on Dec 18, 2013 15:45:56 GMT -5
Steel clashing upon steel. Above the ringing of her ears, she knew this sound was real. Kiersta was no stranger to the sounds of battle that rang triumphantly into the sky, yet in the muted depth of the fog, the sound was hollow and lifeless. She saw the umbra blades flash around Garen’s armor. He had not been the target Nocturne sought, and his armor alone saved Kiersta from a vicious death. She began to struggle in the Vanguard’s steely grip - so bound there was nothing she could do to protect him, and little he could do to protect himself.
Kiersta winced as she felt a line of searing pain lance through her left side. The darkness around her intensified and she realized the depth of her plight: the nightmare was not one to deviate from his target, no matter what stood in its way. Wrenching an arm free, she channeled a thin stream of magic into a shell over her body. Blood dripped from her long sleeve, but the wounds would have to wait. She could only hope Garen would realize that his continued efforts to help may cost them both dearly.
Post by Exemplar of Demacia on Dec 19, 2013 12:40:06 GMT -5
Four steps was all it took until the dead king gave his command. Jarvan IV turned to face the smoke of madness that billowed out from the enemy, consuming all in sight. He saw the creature Nocturne no more. He glimpse for a moment the intentions of Hecarim, weapon lowered towards him. The shadow of war was enveloped by the greater darkness that spilled forth, and Jarvan IV readied himself for both impacts.
The spell would assault his mind, attacking thought as it did sight, and with little time he would have to make a stand. The burning horseman was moments away, but hopefully his eyes were as blinded as the prince was about to be. Quickly he judged the enemy's approach, anchoring the end of his lance to the ice with his foot, and aiming its point like a pike soldier bracing to greet a cavalry charge. Leaning forward, he prepared to lend all his weight to his lance and its innate power.
Have faith, he thought both of himself and his people. He could protect himself, but in the darkness his champions would have to fend for themselves.
Post by The Might of Demacia on Dec 20, 2013 18:39:51 GMT -5
Escape.
It was the only thing in Garen's mind, and he detested such train of thought. Demacians do not retreat without a very good reason. Quite frankly, having to protect Kiestra in his arms while fighting back Nocturne was not a good reason. Though the Vanguard was known to be by the book, he also had the wits to know if it is a wise decision to make a tactical retreat. The fact that the summoner had to cast a protective spell must mean he has failed to protect her somehow.
Then, the thought of abandoning the summoner came to his mind. Was it the darkness around him? He was suddenly assailed by ideas he would never think of in the midst of battle. Abandon? No, there must be another way. He knew that he cannot outrun Nocturne's blades, but he knew that there is a place safer for the summoner. Though, with the hunch of a hunter, Garen knew that once he let go of Kiestra, it would be the death of her. His sword would cry out each time it met the umbra blades, his body would get snagged around by the impact on his armor, but even his armor cannot hold for long.
With a deep breath, Garen yelled the name of his beloved home, "Demacia!" and broke into as fast of a sprint as he could while covering Kiersta. He did not want Nocturne to touch the summoner he was protecting again. His armor was infused with the strength of his voice, turning it chrome and making it withstand heavier blows. Turning his back to the enemy was always a horrible idea, but they were sitting ducks, just waiting to be shot if they stayed. Garen would run, now using both arms to carry Kiersta so he can lift her off her feet and use his body to cover her.
"Fear not. I will not let any more harm come to you." Garen said, trying to comfort the summoner from whatever would dampen her confidence. With a determined glare into the dark, and running towards where he believed the Demacian ship was, Garen needed just a faint light to guide him.
The thought of bringing down Demacian Justice behind him to hopefully stall Nocturne for a bit came into his mind, but he knew he must wait for the right moment. Kiersta's safety was his highest priority.
Post by The Shadow of War on Dec 25, 2013 23:09:34 GMT -5
Though Hecarim knw that this would be the course of action should the Demacians prove to be... Demacians and be unwilling to cooperate Hecarim had taken things into his own hand and was charging for Jarvan, in the darkness he heard the slight chink of metal. Possible retaliation perhaps? It wouldn't matter, the centaur would break their ranks and continue straight for the 'royalty'. Between his natural resilience to pain as an undead combined with his aura of pure flame he was certain that who ever was in his path would definitely take more damage than him.
He ran faster putting his hooves to work and met his target with a full on Devastating Charge.
Post by The Half-Dragon on Dec 26, 2013 7:35:51 GMT -5
The Half-Dragon heard the steps of someone coming closer and closer. Sniffing the air she picked up several different scents, mostly death as well as her fellow Demacian's. Shyvana looked around in the shroud, the steps seemed to have stopped close to her. As the Ruined King swung his blade Shyvana just barely caught glimpse of it as the edge off the spell cut through her armor and into her chest. Had she not noticed the attack before it hit, it would have been much worse.
The Half-Dragon roared in pain as blood escaped the wound, it was not lethal but it did slow her down a bit. Looking in the direction the blade had come from Shyvana saw two cyan glowing orbs in the darkness. Biting through the pain the Half-Dragon took a deep breath before releasing a torrent of fire hot enough to melt Metal.
Post by The Ruined King on Dec 27, 2013 14:13:00 GMT -5
The King knew he had struck true when he heard the roar of anguish erupt from the half-breed, again he gripped his sword knowing he had a few 'charges' left within the blade. He still could not see the physical form of Shyvana due to the darkness that swam about them, yet the fiery soul still burned brightly, defiantly before him. The soul itself began to flare as the dragon began to retaliate, quickly the King swung once more, before spinning upon his heel and crouching low to avoid as much as the fire as he could before his attack would strike her. The magic itself would cut through the flames splitting them briefy and distorting the air pushing the fire apart as it shot through the darkness toward Shyvana's throat. Once it at traveled through however, the flames would wash over the King's encased form, the conjured armor only capable of standing the heat for so long.
I am the one who defied death. I am the one he fears. I am the on he can not take. One sweep of my hand and your nations will fall. Come for me you worms. You will all bow before my legions or be broken beneath us as we march upon your cities.
Post by Kiersta Mandrake on Dec 30, 2013 19:43:12 GMT -5
The shadows continued to darken around Garen and the High Councilor despite Garen’s sprint, blotting out all light, sound, and hope. She braced herself against his armor, freeing a second arm that she might cast her magic at will, a thin line of smearing across his armor. So he would run, but to where, and what would he do once he got there? Did he think he could just keep moving forever? “Don’t be a fool, Garen, it’s not controlled here. I need to see it to stop it.”
“Fear not the Nightmare?” The sinister voice reverberated in the recesses of Garen’s mind. He would feel a sickening chill as Nocturne’s incorporeal form slid through his prodigious armor. The speed at which they ran was irrelevant: you cannot outrun a nightmare. “Why ask of others what you cannot achieve?” The horror bore down against Garen’s will, forcing itself into his darkest secrets and fears. “You shall not escape me.”
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