Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A fireball sizzled past Baraka's running image as a bright flash dissapated from a portion of Ketarye's lightning shield enchantment. His shield shimmered lightly at where the katana struck, indictating a forceful, but controlled blow. His fiery reply, had missed yet again.
The illusionist had scored two hits before Ketarye brought up his defense. His hit-and-run style of fighting had initially rendered the elemental mage confused, as he threw a litany of flames and cones of ice at Baraka's images, each time hitting air, and at one time, singeing the lining of his opponent's cuirass.
Baraka circled the arena, half invisible, each turn leaving an illusion image of himself running the other direction. The mastery of his individual "splits" had recently perfected so well that he required little mana and no concentration to psychically control each image. Some rushed Ketarye, as others kept running around him, faking a pass, or magically appearing behind him with sword raised, before disappearing with a faint poof, as the illusion's katana hit the target.
Baraka's tactics had worked on lessers opponents. Their despair allowing the illusionary swords to draw very real blood. Ketarye had been confused by Baraka's initial assault, but knowing that all it took was an Spell of Iron Will, countered other superficial injuries that the illusions might have cause. But even after weaving his Iron Will spell, Ketarye winced against the barrage of mind energy as he realized that Baraka's illusions had psychic resonance of their own. Though Baraka's images could not hurt him anymore, he could not further detect the illusionist's prescence. The rest of the battle had to be a risky mix of guesswork and luck.
Sensing that his illusions had lost their worth as attacking threats, Baraka swiftly changed tactics, sending more of his illusions running helter-skelter, none of them charging Ketarye directly.
Ketarye pointed to the sky with Velos, and brought it's tip down to the ground in a fast jerk. Spikes of fire materialized at the ceiling of the arena and fell toward the grass, incinerating most of the battlefield completely and throwing many images to the ground. Baraka cringed as he struggled to put out the flames that caught his boots.
"Flamespikes. I never knew Ketarye mastered flamespikes."
"You'll be amazed, Baraka." came a voice that was suddenly behind him.
Baraka dropped to the ground just before an giant blunted icicle flew at where his head was. He conjured a mist of invisibilty and got to his feet. Ketarye's eyes widened as he hurriedly started recasting his lightning shield, a spell he dropped when he raised Velos for his Flamespike spell.
Baraka dove forward, intent on a pass, but decided to play further, as he turned his katana aside, and smacked Ketarye across his buttocks with the flat of the blade.
Ketarye turned, in his frustration and ultimate regret, threw a cone of frost at where he thought Baraka was at. He hit nothing, save his own leg. The mage cried out in pain, as the frost bit hard into his flesh, and fused his leg to the ground.
-To Be Continued. Tired, lah.-
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 1:44 PM
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Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Ketarye shifted nervously in his seat. The Magnum Opus tournament! Two mages, one title, one victor. Velos, his sentient spell scepter, shimmered in his hand, as if sensing his mild distress. It reminded him of the countless hours he spent training for this moment.
"The house Pyraos has never had an elemental talent as bright as you Ketarye. You WILL take victory this year."
The thought that none from his house, save his great-grandfather, ever reached the finals of the Magnum Opus tournament before rattled him. He was born with a greater capacity to remember spells than others, like his grandfather. The only distinct difference was his ability to scry into the thoughts of others. Most people did not know about his hidden ability, which he had used through the entire tournament, often dodging incapacitating blows that would have knocked him out of the tournament and out of his skin.
A wave of relief washed over him. There was nothing to fear from Baraka the illusionist. There was nothing to fear at all. Ketarye summoned a fireball, quenched it with frost, and unsummoned the ball of ice. He was talented, he was psychic and he was going to win the Magnum Opus title.
Velos shimmered quietly.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 12:32 AM
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Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Bradiach stumbled across a root. Cursing his mediocre second sight, he picked himself up and continued running. The Haruk'zimet, winged horrors, would not be far away. He had to push on, or risk being recaptured and tortured again.
He had second sight. Most rangers used them as convienient forms of magical rear view mirrors, but today, Bradiach had no choice. He had to use his second sight to find his path. Taerokim Kaloq had his eyes removed for the way they glared with defiance. In the cell that he was held in after the blazing irons removed the insolence from his eyes. Bradiach cursed as the tears stung his eyes. He could tend to the wounds of others, but the loss of eyesight was beyond his ability to heal.
~~
Taerokim watched Bradiach's escape with certain pleasure, knowing that the blind ranger's demise was near. The evil mage gave Bradiach a headstart of an hour, before the winged horrors returned from Avios to hunt him down. Through his scrying mirror, he chuckled as the blind ranger stumbled and fell over a root. The mage peered at his timepiece. Half full, the sand trickled slowly into the bottom of the hourglass.
With a malicious grin on his face, Taerokim gestured to a few of his reserved Haruk'zimet behind him.
"Kill him."
A small host of black wings took flight from the tower, with their shrieks filling the evening air.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 2:11 AM
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Wednesday, June 28, 2006
A tournament ritual was held in the Mejistros Academy of Magic every year for the past two hundred years. This was a tradition followed by the Elder Mages of the city to decide who would be worth to join the army's elite, the Zalataros.
Baraka Zendefal was a candidate, and a senior of the academy. It was too dark outside to practice his spells, so he decided to meditate in the training room of his father's mansion.
Deep within the house of his ancestors, the training room was a sanctuary for the members of the family who seeked peace and solstice. Baraka knelt right in the centre, focusing his thoughts on the match that was to be on the day after.
A custom that had been followed in the Zendefal family since the beginning of the clans, that every oldest male of each generation was to join the Zalataros. Baraka's father and grandfather had held high posts in the faction until age caught up with them. Both were highly respected and decorated. The Zendefals were formidable opponents on the battlefield, not so much because they were powerful in the command of their magic, but were also blessed with skill with the sword. Hopes were pinned highly on the only son of Hertorka Zendefal as he was, like his father, the only one of his generation blessed in the magic of illusions.
There was pressure, of course, from his father.Being the proud man that he was, he naturally had high expectations for his son, and expected Baraka to gain entry easily, rising above the other mages to be the second of the Zendefal family to attain the post of Magnum Opus, highest rank available to the mages. First being himself, of course.
Baraka's brow furrowed in perspiration. It was going to be a long, long day.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 2:35 PM
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Monday, June 26, 2006
The Avian left the half-carcass strung up in his courtyard racks. The blood drained from the open gash of the doe's neck into an urn, for disposal later. He stretched, as he placed his Katars on the hall altar.
After uttering a silent prayer to his ancestors, Ixelmann raised his hands, and pulled the ball of each shoulder forward. He cringed slightly, as his crimson wings retracted into his back and shoulders. It hurt everytime, but out of practicality and the inconvenience of walking around the city with his wings out-stretched, he endured it.
"Daaaaaddeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!" squealed a small voice from one of the rooms in the back.
Ixelmann turned, and was instantly assaulted by his daughter, Jadea, who had leaped up at him, wings outstretched and flapping in excitement. She had been waiting for her father to come back to show him an etching she made on papyrus the night before.
"Thats very nice, sweetheart." said Ixelmann, as he kissed her on her forehead and watched her flutter back into her room.
He had only just sat down on his chair for a few minutes when a loud, violent rumble rocked his house. Ixelmann bolted straight for his daughter's room, where he found her already hiding under the bed. Carrying her, he spread his wings, and covered her with one, while tucking the other behind his back. He ran to the courtyard to see his wife standing in the courtyard, staring straight out. Ixelmann followed her gaze, and gasped in horror and unison with his wife, as the Energy Dome in the center of the city caved in, crumbling violently under another explosion.
He put Jadea down next to his wife and said, "Kayanos, I must leave. This is a crisis the Avios Imperial Guards cannot sit out."
He ran back into his house, slid his katars into their sheaths strapped on his thighs. Whispering a quiet prayer to his ancestors for strength, Ixelmann ran straight out toward the courtyard, and with a mighty beat of his outstretched wings, took off, flapping hard and fast towards the rumbling city center.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 12:26 PM
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Tuesday, June 13, 2006
"We have counted the centaur army to be ten thousand strong. They have archers, and more than half their number are ground assault shock troops. They have brought a minute number of healers for an army of that magnitude. Spellcasters will be easily contained by our anti-magic nodes. It seems that they were summoned in a hurry my lord, as they have not brought much food and water. I suggest sorties and short skirmishes to wear them down, and we will crush them when they are injured and hungry."
The commander of the Satyr army, Harrophlex, nodded his approval. His troops were skilled skirmishers, specialising in hit and run tactics, which was the Satyr way. An open charge against centaur had been proven time and again to be suicidal. The probable best way to contain their most formidable weapon, their charge, was to shift the battleground back into the forest, where the Satyrs were at home in the closely packed trees. The space constraint would remove the threat of the centaur army's thunderous hooves and charging shields. An added bonus would be the cover above from centaur arrows.
A smile spread across Harrophlex's face. It was going to be a massacre.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 11:46 PM
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Monday, May 15, 2006
Taerokim spied the city of Avios from his seat in the dark tower. The city was a gleaming jewel in the sky against the setting sun. Such a marvel of architecture, It was a pity he had to destroy it for his own means. His winged riders had already began their flight towards the floating city, and he was about to cast his spell of destruction through the scrying mirror.
Avios had to be razed and thrown into the ground because the source of propulsion that kept the city floating was a massive Koratagan crystal. The crystal was surrounded by an energy lattice which processed the raw power into the furnaces of the magical engines of Avios. An endless supply of power from the core of the crystal was just what the mage needed for his Control-Machina.
Though his thought-controlling engine could be powered by Taerokim's raw mana alone, the mage decided that he spent all his time on powering it, there would be no time at all to savour ruling the world...
Taerokim raised his hands and intoned his spell. Complicated spells such as the one he was about to cast required sacrifice, especially since he was casting it through a scrying mirrior. Mana backflow had to be channeled elsewhere and the point of channelling was regrettably uncontrollable. Wind swept through the dark throne room as it started swirling with bright green light. As the raw energy gathered in the palms of his hands, he pulled them back, and with one swift motion, thrust them into the mirror.
There was loud boom, as one of his prison wings crumbled into dust and mortar. Through the scrying mirror though, the domed centre of Avios had imploded. The crystal lattice was exposed. His timing was perfect. Black wings of his Haruk'Zimet riders filled the sky around the city.
The Koratagan crystal was his for the taking.
Morningstar wrote this
at around.. 11:34 AM
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