Training my head is bloody, but unbowed
Roana
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
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Posts: 1,427
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#1
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
Generals were meant to be ruthless. Generals were precise. Generals held skills of tacticians, of Machiavellian masterminds, of strength, durability, and fortitude. He’d know – the warrior was once all of those things, scaling great heights across expansive battlefields, laying waste to enemies, bartering time for allies, wrecking and demolishing and upholding a creed of condemnation, consignments to oblivion.

It came full circle now, honed right back into his blood. Except now there was no army – he and Loren didn’t constitute anything more than minutemen – fervent to join an ensuing fight. But it mattered little, in the scheme of things. With the blight, with impending Long Night, there was no time to dwell in the ridiculous ventures of their lackluster defenses. It meant he had to become better. Stronger. Mightier. Better than before; scorching, obliterating, a massive, barbaric foe for anyone who dared to cross him or those he considered family.

He'd spent a greater part of the day making armor for himself, for Zuriel, and a few others in mind, and left the metal to sit in the winter’s sun for a few moments while he swung a new blade, intending to balance its weight, ponder over how to meld it into a brighter conviction. On a whim, he stoked its fibers into one of the targets nearby, listened to the resplendence in its vitriol, in its fervency, in its calculated efforts, tilting it from side to side in his calloused palms, testing it from both hands. The shape was clean, good, no chink in its steel, forged iron and irreverence in its adornments, plain this time, no airs, no mercurial ornaments, a satisfactory pulse to the air after a third iteration and movement. It would serve someone well. But would it amount to anything during Long Night – or was it useless, infallible, when monsters haunted and loomed?
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
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Posts: 758
MP:
#2
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
Roana had been wandering. She had made absolutely zero effort to join the forming army when she had heard call for one. Not when Zariah made it, nor when Wessex did. She had other orders from a higher power to follow now, and the politics of mortals would only serve to muddle her cause. But since she had promised to wait as long as she could to carry out these orders, she felt a bit at a standstill. Perhaps she ought pay the baker a visit to see if she had made any progress with Mort.

But as she made her way there, she caught a familiar sight. A sword, swinging through the air, armor glinting in the sunlight. She herself wore no armor, though her claymore adorned her hip. Like the blade the Reaper swung, it was simple, though the high shine of its enchanted blade and dragon guard made it stand out as something special. For a moment she watched from afar, taking in his movement and observing the field before him. "This is quite the set up you have here." she said at some length, stepping forward.
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#3
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
The blade bade its master, slicing through the air with might, with grit, with tenacity, and his muscles rippled, undulated through movements and motions with familiar, habitual obstinance; days of battlefield longing, when they were stripped down to the core of humanity, when only survival bit into their minds, consumed, held them aloft and upright until blow upon blow matched their vitriol and vehemence. He switched hands simply to exercise the other, capable of rampaging with both, sliding its weight along the ether with matched parallels, and there was some distant haze in his sedition, in his decadence, in his unsung, unholy splendor, of yesteryear’s seasons when he knew exactly what the world was made of (sinners and thieves and monsters and soldiers; except now there was just more than greed and glory to consider).

An individual maneuvered into his peripheral vision, and he swung around as if still in battle, a poised beast, capable of serving no god but the notions of the reaper and his scythe; only registering the stranger as familiar a moment later, and the compliment accompanying her. “Roana,” he nodded, indicating she could step forward, sheathing the sword along his belt and gazing along, across, the expanse she seemed either intrigued, inspired, or curious of. He shrugged – eyes flicking over the field with its targets, with its armor gleaming on top of readied woodpiles, with the unicorn grazing nearby, her watchful eye instantly coiled upon the woman-soldier. “Thank you.” It was nothing compared to Ronin’s training grounds at the Monster Hunter’s guild, but adequate for his current needs. His gaze swept back to her, an arch to his brow, speaking to her as he would any other warrior - their machinations and inclinations likely similar stances, war-drum slashes and depravities that came with necessary tactics. “What brings you here?”
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
Change author:
Posts: 758
MP:
#4
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
Roana stepped forward when indicated, respecting the space of her fellow warrior, more than accustomed to the unspoken ettiquete that came with the weight of such power. "I was just passing by and couldn't help but notice this set up." she said with a light shrug. Innocent curiosity. Such training grounds weren't a terribly common sight throughout the Grounds after all. "Congratulations on your new appointment by the way, General. I wish you well in your endeavors." she commented with a slight respectful nod. Of course, the elephant hanging in the space was her complete disregard of her own enlistment in his army, despite her well known military record. But she didn't offer her reasoning for that freely.

Though from what she heard, the numbers were rather pitiful.

"Would you be up for a bit of a spar?" she asked out of curiosity. "It has been awhile since I've been able to use Krosis here against a magic user as it was intended by its maker." she said, patting the blade on her hip.
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#5
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
For one who had spent nearly two lifetimes ensuring he wasn’t noticed, or carefully cultivating a demeanor that ensured others stayed far, far away, this world had a knack for ignoring the possibilities and throngs of detachment, insouciance, and reticence, heading straight for him when he least expected it. Along a majority of days he was grateful for it – the acceptance, the tolerance, the ability to somehow spread himself into more prowess, more potential, more capabilities, more endeavors, things he’d always thought left behind in lands and kingdoms long since gone, decayed, mutilated, and destroyed. He wasn’t certain about this one – not yet, Roana simply being a passerby, wandering past his residence on the outskirts of society, targets still ready and apparent in his field. Perhaps it had been curiosity. Perhaps it had been predilection. Perhaps it had been nothing more than empty circumstances. He shrugged back in response, the lightest curl of a smirk settling along the corner of his mouth; allowed to be a little proud of his set-up – intending to make it greater when Long Night’s ominous vows didn’t reign so supreme.

As for the congratulations – he was a tad surprised, mostly because while the honor was there, the strength in numbers wasn’t – a miniscule militia at best, he and Loren, striving to prove might and brawn and vehemence in a land that may not have required it. But he nodded just the same, warrior machinations and calculations. “Thank you.” The Sword didn’t ask about her inclination towards the arts of war; not a beast to pry, not a cretin to meddle. Maybe she had no intention of tethering herself to an army. Maybe she had other responsibilities to tend to. Maybe she’d long since decided not to align or affiliate herself with their nuances. All of it was fine. It was not a decision left up to him. So the subject never segmented or flickered its way to his vocals.

Instead, it was the notions of a spar – not a challenge, though he was one to rarely back down from a proffered skirmish – but a league of practice, a notion of violence meant to teach, to stoke, to train. Permitting an opportunity to pass him by would be foolish at best; it was a wiser maneuver to learn from each and every individual – their maneuvers, their motions, their weaknesses, their strengths.

As far as the inclusion of Krosis, however, his eyes slipped to the blade she patted, an indication of some other abilities to sear into his flesh. He wouldn’t have done the same to her – not in some miniscule practice with nothing on the line. His head tilted, brow arching in a fine line. “What does it do?”
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
Change author:
Posts: 758
MP:
#6
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
She nodded at his thanks, not in the least off put by his quiet and serious demeanor. His type were not uncommon amongst warrior types. For some, it was an earnest aspect of their personality. For others, it was a bluff put on to keep others from discovering how ineffective and weak they were. In Deimos' case, she had a feeling it was more the former than the latter. He wasn't quite boasty enough to be overcompensating for a lack of skill or ability.

When he asked after the sword, she grinned wickedly, a hint of pride shining in her eyes. "I think it's better shown than explained if you don't mind?" she said, taking a few big steps back away from him. She drew the blade, which gleamed as if made from platinum in a high polish, protruding like the flame from the maw of the dragon head designed into the guard of the oversized claymore. Despite its size, she swung it with mastered ease, as if it weighed no more than a feather. She took a preparation stance, grinning with the sort of excitement only one who understood the thrill of a good spar could appreciate. "If you've Disintegration or Life Drain magic, send some my way, if you'd be so kind."
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#7
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
His brow remained arched, pondering if he wasn’t being clued in on the potency because he was about to be blasted to smithereens. Roana didn’t seem the type to furtively exploit and then destroy; but due to his pursuits on and off the battlefield, his experiences in deceptive, duplicitous demons, his trust had been adapted to very few. His stare still registered upon the blade, watching her draw it, dragon heads and massive claymores not-withstanding, bewitched and enchanted somehow so she seemed capable of wearing its weight with ease. He pondered over its other capabilities – if this Krosis was somehow meant to devour or consume magic, especially ones so specific, and fortunately for her, some of the abilities he wielded.

With an inhale, he grabbed hold of his own sword, and prepared for something close to the inevitable; likely foolish and ridiculous on his part. And while he too took a stance, his movements weren’t dictated towards her, obliging in the fellow soldier’s request because curiosity, inquiry, machinations, and calculations were temporarily unfurling past apprehension, consternation, and every other warning sign his brain repeated and reverberated.

The only motions that advanced was the magic, slinking, serpentine, and sinuous. His invocations slid, uncoiled, unraveling, untethered, unbound, a relish over his senses, a barbaric twist to his veins. Familiar and comfortable, deadly and nefarious, they cooled past his being on a silent throng, on an invisible, intangible presence, basking solely for the blade, for her.
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
Change author:
Posts: 758
MP:
#8
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
Her grinned widened when he agreed to participate in the game, her stance rock solid and rooted to the earth below her boots. Her training had been rigorous, her form was impeccable, and her heart was ferocious. This would be quite the bout! As he cast his magic, she didn't seem to respond at first, waiting until the very last second before thrusting the blade infront of her, as if to catch an opponent's blade with hers. The Life Drain magic would be caught by Krosis, the blade gleaming bright white as it absorbed the power of the magic - great or weak as it might be depending on how much juice Deimos put behind it. When the flow of magic stopped, she followed through with a step and swing of the blade, the tip pointed at the ground just to his right. As it came to a halt a blast of blinding white light, Deimos' own magic converted to naught but pure energy now, erupted from the end of the blade, obliterating the ground it hit with the equivalent force of the magic it had consumed.
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#9
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
He watched, waited, a scholar as must as a warrior – intrigued by whatever demonstration was due to erupt. His stance remained the same, ready, eager, fervent for some sort of fray. As the blade was swung, she pinpointed it towards the ground, thankfully avoiding segmenting and riveting it back upon him, and he could only be a bystander as it bludgeoned snow, rime, and loam, leaving pockets and patches of earth completely removed, scattered in bits and pieces. He studied it for a moment, reflecting on the nature of the sword, on the weaponry, on the munitions; something, if given an altercation with him or anyone else containing those specific magics, could be quite costly.

Good thing they were only training.

He did manage to orchestrate the smallest of smirks, a nod of his head almost like a bow. “Impressive.” Then, raising his own sword, he maneuvered, swiftly, quickly, towards her. “What can you do without enchantments?” It was a soldier’s worth, to test mettle, to prosper strength and prowess; but there were no rooted abhorrence here, no shades of wrath, fighter to fighter, plying and wielding, cultivating probabilities, possibilities, and mere practice. There hadn’t been too many others amidst this region that could claim prior experiences – war drums and trumpet blasts, dead bodies riddling and scarring, catacombs and the endless pinnacles of ivory tents. This wasn’t a do your worst invitation; just an invocation to days long since gone.

So he raised his blade towards her right shoulder in an upwards slash, intending to see how she defended – no full brawn or power attached.
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
Change author:
Posts: 758
MP:
#10
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
It felt wonderful to use Krosis for the purpose it had been made, the slight reverberation she felt through the hilt singing beautifully through her bones. Some swords were just that - swords. Krosis had a soul, a life, and her friend was singing with joy to unveil its power. But the General was not yet done testing her or her blade, and she merely smirked at his question. A playful challenge - come at me and see - not one to be content with words when the field of battle was so open and ready to be used.

As Deimos swung up, the blademaster used the unusual weight of her sword to her advantage, swinging it sideways to meet the challenger. If caught, her hope was that it would dance to the side, leaving the man wide open for a backhanded follow through.
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#11
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
This was more routine – no enchantments on the battlefield, no incantations riddled, heart and soul immersed into the warrior aspects. He’d maneuvered across many daises of war, their stages, their catacombs, their endless, unwinding sepulchers, and this was one more line of fire and munitions, one more exercise in procedures, patterns, and drills.

So he was calm and composed, a steady breath, layered inhales and exhales, on the rush of his blood; singing, imploring, enjoying and satisfied with the plunge of movement and motion, the escalation of fight, fight, fight, capable of maneuvering his blade, an extension of his arm, of himself. There wasn’t a need for summoned conflagrations, for invocations unleashed and unfurled - he was a ruthless exploit all on his own.

Natural, inherent, as fluid as breathing, he watched as she swung her blade up, hoping to catch the movement of his sword. They met on a clash of steel, but his didn’t rebound or ricochet away, too experienced, too strong, too immersed into this worlds and lands apart (but swords always sung the same), and instead, he used the opportunity to strive reaching for her again, towards her left shoulder now. Curiosity and calculations enamored the push, a series of speculations on what she’d try in the next interval.
and death that spun them
DEIMOS
Roana Steadman
Soldier

Age: 28 | Height: 5'8" | Race: Accepted | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 6 - Strg: 24 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 24 - Luck: 11
Played by: Grant Offline
Change author:
Posts: 758
MP:
#12
All is fair in love and war
bloodshed in velvet shades
as battles burn, but one remains
they call her Queen of Blades
The blades struck as planned, but Deimos was apparently far stronger than she had imagined - a blow from Krosis caught like that was no little smack to absorb the recoil from after all. But she did not falter, the thrill of the fight second nature to her, drilled into her mind and nerves and muscles with fervor and passion. Her grin only widened, tactics changing in an instant. While Roana was formidably strong for a woman, she knew out-powering men she encountered was highly unlikely, and she was not one to fight nature on this. She had focused on her in-born strengths, and where she might've not been able to match a male opponent's strength, she was much, much faster.

In a blur she twisted, steel parting from steel in a spiral, her whole form shifting from one direction to another as she danced, blade in hand. Her knees bent, crouching below Deimos' blow with uncanny dexterity, using that and the length of the claymore to her advantage as she swung up from below, blade trained on his torso.
ROANA
This table brought to you with considerable help from Sky and Odd!
Deimos Ignatius
the Resurrected Sword
General of the Hollowed Grounds \ Guildmaster

Age: 26 | Height: 6'4" | Race: Abandoned | Nationality: Outlander
Level: 7 - Strg: 26 - Dext: 26 - Endr: 28 - Luck: 26
ZURIEL - Mythical - Unicorn (Healing)
Played by: Heather Offline
Change author:
Posts: 1,427
MP:
#13
legends are slippery little things. for the glory that coats them
hides the pain, suffering
Her speed was assured, a certainty in his brawn, mass, and height compared to her own; but only a grin managed to muster itself along his features as they gave way to maneuvers familiar, motions known, expressed once on the outset of wars, on the sides of campaigns, on the outliers of ramparts and stockades. How many scars had he borne from an enemy’s speed? How much blood had he lost due to an adversary’s swiftness? Now he had to be keen and blunt again, her long, hefty claymore rampaging towards his chest; forced to back away, to turn in another direction, so he wasn’t struck or felled down by its impeccable weight and capability. He raised his own sword in efforts to cease its onslaught, intending to catch blade upon blade, then motioned towards the right. The beast always had a healthy respect for anyone’s weaponry – munitions cast and prospered, the broad notches of steel, the forged iron, and detachment of a cutlass’s impeccable balance.

Perhaps he could catch her here, in a different direction, in a new volley; not entirely bothered that neither had landed a hit. It was one of those scorching melees, a back and forth, a twist, a turn, a testing of capabilities rather than spilling ichor or raising abhorrence, examining and scrutinizing fellow warrior’s abilities. For this interval and instant, he swung with precision, with prowess, with attempted accuracy, towards her left hip.
and death that spun them
DEIMOS


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