The Legion Immortalis: The Bulwark of Heaven (Part 3)

[Cameron]

Continued from this thread: http://nerdramblingz.com/starforums/index.php?topic=146.0

Proceed.

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   Dennan continues his descent, and when he is close enough that you can feel the gust of wind created by his massive wings, you jump to the right, curling into a roll as you go.

   As you gaze upward at the immense creature, you quickly come to the realization that Dennan is transforming again. His talons expand until they are long, gray legs, nearly the size of trees. His body becomes large and leathery, tiny crevices of skin appearing weathered and worn. His feathery tail becomes long and thin, like a whip with a tiny black shock of hair at the end. Huge ears sprout from his head and a long, tube-like nose juts out of his face. Two long, white tusks explode from near his mouth.

   You’ve never seen a creature like this before, as it is obviously not native to anywhere you’ve been. You have a split second to wonder where this thing might come from before the beast slams into your body.

   Luckily, you had the forethought to attempt to move out of the way. However, this beast is a bit larger than the eagle and its girth still manages to pin you to the ground.  You can tell that Dennan is not attempting to hurt you too badly, as he could have easily landed upon your chest, crushing your ribs terribly.

    Instead, you realize that he has landed upon your left arm, and though the bones have been obliterated, and a small bit of elbow juts out from the skin, this is likely something that Hestia could fix rapidly. Pain shoots up your arm and wounded shoulder, and as you move, there is an unpleasant grinding sound of bone churning against bone.

   Dennan transforms back into his human form, his green eyes glinting in the sun. He reaches out his right hand to you and helps you to your feet. He gently takes your left arm in his hands and mutters some words under his breath. The gut-wrenching pain numbs considerably, and the only lasting effect you feel is a dull, aching throb. The bones will still need to be set and mended, but it seems he has applied a bit of a band-aid upon you for now so that you can effectively continue your fight. Though he might have the power to greatly injure you, Dennnan is, at the very least, a gracious opponent.

   “Take a moment if you need to. I will be here when you are ready,” speaks Dennan in his low, rumbling voice. He crosses to the other side of the sparring area and allows you to collect yourself before beginning again.

[john greymore]

The beast before him would have been beautiful if not for the fact that it had just CRUSHED his left arm. He had not expected this, although he had no doubt that he could've been crushed on the chest just as easily as breathing was to Dennan.

Dennan steps off before transforming back, or transform back before stepping off. Fenwick wasn't sure because as soon as the pressure was off of him he gasped out in pain. The clicking and moaning of his bones were like voices to the dead: unnatural.

But he could not drop his guard. Dennan was now approaching him, his green eyes reflecting off the sunlight, reflecting too the fear Fenwick felt. He was a child! Nothing compared to him! He thrusts his right arm out and Fenwick responds by reflexively looking away, preparing himself for the oncoming blow...

...that never comes! Cautiously, he looks back and sees that he is only being offered to his feet. Choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea, he accepts the offer with his right arm, again feeling the pain from his right hand.

As soon as Fenwick is on his feet, his left arm is somewhat healed and feels considerably better. The bone that was jutting out had receeded somewhat. Hestia would still have some work to do, but desperate times meant desperate situations!

Dennan politely allows him the next move. Hurrah.

But what could he do! Desperately, he tries a spell. He knows that it probably wouldn't work once Dennan transforms yet again, if he simply doesn't shrug it off first.

This time, with a few gestures of his left hand, his fingers twitching, he continually mumbles a string of words that would make up the spell. (Wisdom--Spiritual magic: NERVOUS WRECK)

If this works, Dennan will be unable to feel anything from his right shoulder down to his fingers, unless his force of will is so great that he can counter the effect or if his transformation allows for the spell to be broken.

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   Fenwick likely could have guessed that someone who is so adept at using fear effects would be immune to them. While such a spell might have worked on another Ageless, Dennan does not even seem to take notice. His arms are still crossed over his chest as he gazes down at you with flashing green eyes. Attacking his nervous system was ineffective, but surely there must be something you can do to effect him. Dennan's face is devoid of expression, and he still seems to be patiently waiting for you to attack.

   Fenwick’s Intelligence allows him to surmise that Dennan’s mental fortitude is likely the result of a Wisdom skill, something that grants him exceptional WILLPOWER against unnatural effects. Perhaps this is something that Fenwick could learn from the shapeshifter or replicate in some other way.

   As Dennan continues to lean upon the fence post, Fenwick is prompted to dig into his arsenal of spells again.

[Kitharsis]

Sembas was waiting for something, anything from Blood.  He rightfully deserved a reprimand for losing his resolve, and she didn't seem like one to pull any punches.  When she merely turns away and tends to Jonas he watches with a puzzled expression.  Faile puffs out her feathers and shakes off her nervousness.  She chatters in his ear for a moment before giving him a soft, sympathetic headbutt.

A group of Ageless leave with Faran, taking him to get patched up no doubt...  In more ways than one...

The sudden change of scenery visibly brightens Sembas's mood.  He breathes deeply and notices a hint of honeysuckle in the air.

"Finally, no more blasted sand."  He says, mostly to himself.

As Fenwick and Dennan prepare for their match Sembas paces over to Archer, a weak smile struggles to maintain itself on his face.

"Gladia I..."  He bites the corner of his lower lip.  "I hope you don't think less of me for losing my nerve.  This whole experience is quite overwhelming sometimes."

[Faidth]

@Kitharsis:

   Archer attentively watches the match as it unfolds before her, but when you approach her with your apologetic words, she offers you a sympathetic smile.

   “Do not apologize, Sembas. It can be quite overwhelming, but the longer you’re around, the easier it is to process. What you saw Jonas do…” Archer shakes her head, as if attempting to dispel the horrors of what she had seen. “It is terrible, but when the Forsaken are involved, it is all too common, and Jonas…” she sighs heavily, a look of sadness present upon her face. “He knows it best of all.”

   “For some time, Jonas lived amongst the ranks of the Forsaken. In fact, he was one of Severan’s greatest assets. He abhorred humanity for the injustices that cruel people had wrought upon him and those he loved, and he needed someone to blame.”

   “It is not my place to share his story, but if you truly wish to know the mindset of the Forsaken, Jonas would be the one to ask. It is only by his own strength and force of will, and the grace of the Divine, that he found his way back to us, but so many have been lost along the way and wandered into Severan’s clutches.”   

   “I am sorry if Blood’s words were a bit harsh, but she was right. You will see far worse in the world, and it will do us no good to dull the gruesome truth that your eyes will soon witness. I know Blood might come off as a bit harsh, but believe me… she means well. I cannot tell you how many times that woman has saved my hide, and her presence brings strength to us all.”

   Archer takes your hands in hers, and she looks up at you with shining hazel eyes. “Let me give you some advice… When your mind is burdened, and your eyes burn from the offenses that have befallen them, hold in your heart something worthwhile… something that reminds you of better times and places. It may seem to be frivolous advice, but I assure you, that it will steel your resolve and quiet your soul in ways you had not thought possible. For every ounce of evil in the world, there are spades more of good. We must keep these things at hand and at heart, lest we lose our way.”

[Kitharsis]

"So Jonas was once part of the Forsaken.  It seems he is full of surprises."

He picks at an invisible speck on his sleeve as Archer mentions Blood's tounge lashing.  The falconer wanted to say that her words were exactly what he needed, a figurative slap in the face to wash away his despair.  Yet he already felt foolish enough as it was and only gave a nod in response.

"...For every ounce of evil in the world, there are spades more of good. We must keep these things at hand and at heart, lest we lose our way.”

"I sure hope so, for all our sakes.  I'll have to think of something worthwhile to cling to when my heart sinks."  He says the last bit while gently squeezing Archer's hands.

[john greymore]

Fenwick is grimly aware that what he did was out of desperation and he is not surprised to see Dennan simply standing there. His spells were useless, plain and simple. They were made to bewilder and surprise. How in the world was he supposed to know that he wouldn't be able to die and would turn out to be immortal and be duelling with an immortal of said race of immortals and.......

Wow, that really hurt his brain.

Perhaps that's what was needed after all. Immunity or strong resistance usually tends to complacency. If you can make the person fear in other ways...

Fenwick staggered around, looking as though he was hurt. He flailed his arms here and there at times, and made the impression that he was dazed. Yet with each step he drew closer to Dennan, although the said path was criss-crossy and all zig-zaggy.

Under his breath, he resolutely commanded the magic to flow within him. Even as he draws closer to what was perhaps more pain, his eyes started to feel sharper, his nose managed to pick up the slightly more subtle scents of the fields. (Wisdom--Spiritual Magic: HEIGHTENED INSTINCTS)

He knew Dennan would attack at any time, and he hoped that his stronger senses would allow him to dodge the earlier mentioned world of pain in time...

...or at least dull the impact somewhat, he grimly thinks before allowing instincts to overtake him and stagger on!

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   Dennan cocks his head to one side, almost as a canine might when interested in what is before him. He narrows his eyes, studying the mage as he stumbles closer to him. Dennan’s mind races as he quickly makes connections.

   Dennan just healed the man, so he comes to the logical leap that Fenwick really shouldn’t be experiencing much pain, certainly not enough that it would cause him to lose control of his body. After all, he had stood there awaiting him for a few minutes and his opponent had shown no outward signs of fatigue.

   As for the stumbling around… Dennan was pretty sure Fenwick was just cracked. Dennan quickly comes to the conclusion that it must be a feint and warily watches his opponent. He sniffs the air to confirm his suspicions.

        Dennan, being a man of few words, speaks slowly and deliberately. "Pain has a smell, Fenwick Hux. When a creature is injured, it begins to sweat, to become nervous, to show it's fear. While I sense anxiety in you..." Dennan sniffs the air again. "You are nursing no physical wounds, and even your stumbling leaves a pattern upon the ground. An enemy who is truly off balance will have steps that are much more uneven, yet you place equal weight upon both of your feet." Dennan gestures to the footprints that have been left in Fenwick's wake. "An Ageless must always be observant of their surroundings, and the actions of their enemies."


@Sembas:

        Archer smiles shyly, her hands still entwined with those of Sembas. She hears Dennan's words and nods approvingly. "Sometimes I think that boy is more animal than man," remarks Archer quietly. "I am a skilled tracker, but even I lack some of the natural senses he has. He hears like an animal... he can track a bear by the sweet smell of honey borne upon a breeze... he walks amongst them, and they show him no fear... even the mightiest of beasts look upon Dennan as one of their brethren."


@Fenwick:

        Back upon the battlefield, Fenwick’s Heightened Instincts allow him to see that Dennan seems to be perfectly comfortable in taking the defensive, and seems to be biding his time. His body language is neither tense, nor relaxed and, as usual, his face his devoid of expression.  If Fenwick wants to rise as the victor of this match, he will have to take advantage of a well-placed offense.

[john greymore]

Rrrgh, all this nonsense of smelling and fear was starting to touch a nerve.

Dropping the feint, having closed the distance somewhat with Dennan not moving, Fenwick dashes across what remaining distance remains and stops right in front of the big man.

Facing him, his left foot pivoted to the ground, Fenwick spins around with his left such that his back was now towards Dennan. With the momentum and all his weight, he juts his right elbow out, aimed for Dennan's chest.

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   Dennan’s reflexes are preternaturally quick, and as Fenwick moves to slam his elbow into the mountainous man’s chest, Dennan reaches towards the mage with one deft movement. Dennan seizes Fenwick by the joint of the elbow and squeezes it between his large fingers, causing pain to shoot up Fenwick’s entire arm.

   Dennan’s next few movements are practically a blur as he presses his enormous bicep against one side of the mage’s neck, then presses his forearm against the opposite side. He places his left hand against his right forearm, then proceeds to bend Fenwick’s head towards the elbow.

   Fenwick’s breathing instantly begins to strain and he becomes groggy, his knees buckling under his own weight. Dennan has managed to put him into a sleeper hold, and if the mage does not act soon, he will be taking an unexpected nap.

[john greymore]

Somehow his strike failed. Not really a surprise there, but the sudden pain was.

Suddenly, Dennan grabs Fenwick and he is under his mercy. Instinctively, Fenwick struggles against his grasp, kicking his legs and grabbing Dennan's arms in a vain attempt to pull it off. But any small chance of this working is dashed as Fenwick becomes groggy in the next second and on his knees soon after.

His mouth opens, yet what little air that manages to enter does not seem to alleviate his current situation.

All being fair in love and war, unsure where to hit, Fenwick releases his slight grip on Dennan's arms and aims for his privates with his elbows, hoping that whichever makes contact first would also release him.

[Faidth]

@Fenwick:

   Fenwick quickly begins to lose consciousness. His grip over reality is fading fast, and when a low, drunken voice demands, “What the bleeding piss is this? Why are they hugging?”

   The voice sounds far-off, as if it is some distant echo rather than a drunken, diminutive man with a low brow and eyes the color of stone.

   Dennan, his arms still firmly wrapped around Fenwick looks up to see from where the voice emanated. He immediately finds the origin and his eyes settle upon a stocky, solidly built fellow with hair the color of coal and an amused expression upon his face. His eyes glint mischievously, but Dennan senses no ill-intent within him. Dennan looks upon the man quizzically, and quickly recognizes the stranger as one of the Chosen of Alviss. The Chosen of Alviss, the children of the rough-hewn, guardian of the stone, had not visited Avalon in quite some time.

   Dennan’s eyes flick to the Chosen’s companion, and the shapeshifter smiles up at his mother who returns the gesture. Her wicked Blood-Warden Commander armor has been replaced with her ceremonial golden armor, something she typically only wears when she is meeting with emissaries from other factions. This short man must be the emissary of Alviss his mother had mentioned previously.

   “Is that the best you can do, lad?” questions the stranger.

   Dennan releases Fenwick, who topples to the ground. The mage is breathless, but conscious.


@All:

   “I assure you that my son is quite adept,” speaks Fury. 

   “He looks it. Probably a hell of a fighter if he’s the fruit of your womb with a bit of the Archon’s seed spilled in there,” responds the stranger.

   Fury blushes at the man’s rather colorful metaphor. The Chosen of Alviss were known for their rather blunt honesty, and she had come to expect so much of the race, even from their progenitor, whom she had met on several occasions. Alviss had sent this young one with a message of importance, and it seemed that the Chosen would be with them for some time.


   “He is sheltered in these walls of stone, and quite unlike the majority of my children. He is a peculiarity amongst us, but he has a good heart and a strong arm. Allow him to see the world beyond these pillars of living rock, so that his wandering spirit might be sated by the ardors of adventure. I look forward to your response regarding our alliance, and until we meet again, may the ground be firm beneath your feet.”

   Respectfully Yours,
             The All-Father


   “I would be interested in witnessing the use of your craft, good Brother. Will you honor me with a show of your arts,” requests Dennan respectfully.

   “Aye, I will. But this fellow is looking a bit winded. Arm’s been mended, but still a little droopy, and you knocked the wind out of him pretty good. Let me at him, will ye?”

   “Of course, Son of Alviss,” responds Dennan with a nod. “And what may I call you?”

   “Sigurd, lad, but Sig will do just fine.” The pint-sized warrior kneels beside Fenwick and taps him on the crown of his head with a sausage-like finger. “Hey. Wake up. How’m I supposed to fight ye if you’re lollygagging about the ground, rolling around the dust like a Trog?"

   The Chosen of Alviss reaches to his own back and takes in hand a peculiar lute-like instrument. The neck and body are intricately carved with ancient runes, undecipherable by any of the above-ground dwellers. His hand strums at the strings while resonating, dulcet tones permeate the entirety of the sparring area, invigorating the hearts and minds of all who hear it.

   Fenwick regains his mental faculties and his chest expands with a gust of air. All of the bumps, bruises and scratches he has suffered are mended and any physical signs melt from his body. His shattered arm, though still in need of Hestia’s attention, feels a little more mobile as well.

   Dennan quickly helps Fenwick to his feet. “You alright, Fenwick? I hope I did not injure you too badly.”

   “Bah!” scoffs Sig. “Bruises and wounds are but fleeting injuries. Pride, however, is a different story.” Sig, a sly look upon his face, glances up at Fenwick. “I’d wager his pride is more than a little hurt. These magicky types are so easily offended. It’s all the mana… It gets into their heads and makes them crazy. That’s why my people receive the gifts of the All-Father. Our arts are a blessing… sometimes I think the magic you human-types use is a curse.”

   “Now then.” Sig claps his hands together. “Fenwick is it? I’m a gentleman so I’ll grant you the first blow… In fact…” Sig turns to Sembas. “You! Lad! With the spear! Come help your mate out! As for me…”    Sig scans the crowd and attempts to locate a suitable second. There are several capable warriors around the area, but his gaze is drawn to another of the General’s sons, a young man with ebony hair and piercing blue eyes, the color of a summer sky, or perhaps, the color of the waters that collect in the pools of Adalstein, the city beneath the mountains.

   “You, lad!” shouts Sig. “You’ll be my second.”

   Bran’s eyes widen and he points to himself. “Me, sir? I hardly think I’m worthy to fight by your side, Son of Alviss.”

   Sig waves his hand dismissively. “You’re Fury’s boy, aren’t ye? And the son of the Archon? You would do ME an honor by standing with me, lad.”

   Bran quickly responds to Sig’s request and joins the Chosen of Alviss within the sparring area.

   “Alright, lads,” speaks Sig. “Let me show you how we amuse ourselves in Adalstein.”

   Depheir yet remains untested, and Dethys looks to his pupil.

   “I think, perhaps, this might be a good time for you to test your skills, Depheir,” speaks Dethys. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”

   Sig brightens at the challenge. “I do enjoy a good test of strength. I gladly accept your challenge.”

[john greymore]

Rabbits were hopping all over right above him once Dennan had dropped him. There was some talk going on about him, but he ignored them all as the rabbits decided it was best to stomp on his head as they hopped over him.

Soon, he hears a few sweet notes that seemed to surround him, managed to permeate him and not long after, felt quite rejuvenated. His only regret would probably be that the rabbits had disappeared. He sighs, but finds himself gasping for air instead, and he is helped to his feet by Dennan. Fenwick mumbles a yes, finding himself not aching where it should have ached, and his bones mended to a bearable degree.

He hears someone speaking and he turns to the source. The person speaking was... 'stable'. His physical appearance allowed him to seem grounded and sure of himself, or, if not himself, sure of his beliefs.

What he speaks almost striked him down again. First strike? What? Another battle? Not after that beating... but Sembas is called up, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The veteran town guard would give them the much needed advantage.

Bran is called up, and Fenwick quickly calculates what should be done. They would probably aim him first, considering he was the weaker of the two, which would force Sembas to protect him...

He hears Dethys' voice calling out. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”

Sig responds, and another person joins their team. Fenwick does not recall any formal or former meetings with this newcomer, but from the looks of him it looked as if he was a mage himself. He smiled to himself. The Art would live on, and its knowledge would give both of them power to do so.

With the first strike, he quickly introduces himself to the newcomer. "I'm Fenwick! We can talk more later though, have some matters to settle first."

He also poses his own question. "What magic do you specialise in?"

He then goes over to Sembas. "What's the plan? I was thinking a strength spell for your first strike, or my 'heightened instincts' so you can get a feel of the ebb and flow of their moves. We must plan this through carefully... I think it's the only time we can plan with this much detail, with our first strike and all. What do you think?"

[Depheir Kogthar]

Depheir remained completely immobile when he watched fight between Faran Beshral and Jonas and when Fenwick fought with Dennan. The last one ended quite swiftly. Dennan pressed his enormous bicep against one side of the mage’s neck, then pressed his forearm against the opposite side. He placed his left hand against his right forearm, then proceeded to bend Fenwick’s head towards the elbow. Mage was losing his breath and consciousness very quickly.

“What the bleeding piss is this?", demanded low, drunken voice. "Why are they hugging?”

Depheir turned around to see from where the voice emanated and saw a stocky, solidly built fellow with hair the color of coal and an amused expression upon his face.

“Is that the best you can do, lad?” questioned the stranger.

“I assure you that my son is quite adept,” spoke Fury.

Depheir stood up, as he heard the message that the stranger had with him.

“I would be interested in witnessing the use of your craft, good Brother. Will you honor me with a show of your arts,” requested Dennan.

“Aye, I will. But this fellow is looking a bit winded. Arm’s been mended, but still a little droopy, and you knocked the wind out of him pretty good. Let me at him, will ye?”

“Of course, Son of Alviss. And what may I call you?"

“Sigurd, lad, but Sig will do just fine.”

"I hope I will have my challenge soon", Depheir thought when Sig kneeled beside Fenwick and tapped him."It would be much better to be a little prepared for this."

Depheir sat on the ground in order to meditate. He didn't know his exact energy pool, but it would be much better to prepare than to find himself without energy in a middle of battle.

His mind cleared from his thoughts, leaving only a darkness. He didn't care what happened at the sparring area, but his ear catched few words.

"...Lad! With the spear! Come help your mate..."

He opened his eyes and noticed that fight is going to prepare. Fenwick and Sembas fighting against Sig...

 “You, lad!” shouted Sig. “You’ll be my second.”

...and another of the General’s sons, a young man with ebony hair and piercing blue eyes.

"So, two versus two? Sounds interesting...", Depheir thought. "It will be worth watching..."

“I think, perhaps, this might be a good time for you to test your skills, Depheir,” spoke Dethys. “Hey! Sig! Room for another?”

Room for another? Sig responded, and Depheir smiled to himself, when he joined the team of Sembas and Fenwick.

"So, three versus two. Seems to be an entertaining battle", Depheir thought and almost instantly his teammate mage introduced himself.

"I'm Fenwick! We can talk more later though, have some matters to settle first."

"I am Depheir. Nice to meet you."

"What magic do you specialise in?", asked Fenwick.

"Hard to describe it shortly and precisely, but most of my spells are offensive or can be used offensively. Fireblast, Confusion, Tremor... and Arcane Shield, my only defensive spell. For close-combat purposes mainly."

[Kitharsis]

Sembas looks to his left and right, shrugs, then walks over to join Fenwick in the ring.  This newcomer was a bit of a wonder.  Sig, he wanted to be called.  A Son of Alviss.  Smith spoke of the Chosen of Alviss before, but that was all the falconer had ever heard of them.  Sig used his instrument to heal Fenwick, and Sembas could feel the tune invigorating him as well.

So it was Bran and Sig against Fenwick, Depheir and himself.  Their opponents were mortals, but Sembas didn't doubt that they would be able to handle themselves quite well.

Fenwick was already forming a plan.  Just like a mage to formulate and plot.  Of course he wanted Sembas to charge ahead while he pulled the strings from behind.  Just like a mage...

Either way, this wouldn't be the last time they would be working together.  It was as good enough time as any to see how their strengths and weaknesses worked off of each other.

Ah, Deipher had offensive magic, while Fenwick had supportive magic.  A good combo.

"Lets try and not get separated.  I'm not sure what we're dealing with here, but lets remember that these two are both mortal."  He eyes their two opponents.  "Although I don't think that will matter too much, all things considered..."

Faile hops off of his shoulder and glides over to the top a fence post, watching over the ring.  She didn't want to be left out of another match, and intended to participate in this one.

"I'm going to assume that Bran is the more melee oriented of the two.  I'll try and keep him focused on me.  I hope I'm right...  Fenwick, you can empower Depheir or I if you wish.  But don't leave yourself open in case one of us gets disabled.  Use your discretion.  Depheir, use whatever spells you can for the situation.  And I hope those two scabbards you carry aren't just for show."

He gives a sheepish grin and chuckles a bit.  "Haha, listen to me barking orders.  I usually work alone, sorry if I'm being pushy..."

Faile squawks at him from the fence.  "Shush you!  Fine lets get on with it!"

Sembas quickly spins his spear at his side before bowing towards Sig and Bran.  "Hopefully you don't find us lacking, Son of Alviss.  And Bran, it is an honor."

"Lets go boys!"  He shouts at his comrades.

Sembas quickly closes the distance between Bran and himself, spear at the ready.  At the last moment he dives to the right as Faile comes screaming behind him, talon's raised.  She pulls up sharply at the last moment as Sembas tries to sweep Bran's feet out from under him with his spear, hoping that she has distracted him enough to not notice. 

[john greymore]

He had forgotten, after the beating he'd taken, that Bran had yet to die. This Sig fellow apparentely was the same.

Deipher's magic was a good contrast to his own, which was a damn good thing. He also seemed experienced, with two swords hanging by the hips.

The Divine had a very weird way of picking the chosen to be Immortals.

Not be seperated. That was dandy, except that there was the possibility of area attacks, which would undoubtedly destroy them. But then they didn't know what they had in their arsenal, which meant a risk and other factors and...

It wasn't good to think so much during battle, not of this type. So he could do what he liked, which was not really unexpected, given what he knew so far of Sembas (which wasn't very much), but it was a nice thought.

Eventually, after the formalities, Sembas charges in, leading into a move that mimicks the one he used against Archer, except that Faile... pulls up.

He knows Sembas can hold his own, so essentially he had to watch his back. He wasn't sure what Deipher would do, but he screams out a simple 'Deipher! Sig!' After which, he runs up to Sig, chanting his strength spell along the way (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic--STRENGTH)

One hand was not going to do much, oh ho ho, not after the lesson he learnt. Wrapping his right hand around his left, he comes in from Sig's side, arms raised high and ready to be slammed right into the thick skull of his. Just for due measure, he shouts out loud for effect.

Hopefully, during Sig's defense or non-defense, Deipher would be able to get a spell in.

[Cameron]

Sig grins as Fenwick charges towards him and Sembas charges his teammate. A bit backwards from how he predicted it... he had assumed that Sembas was the more melee oriented of the two. Sig wonders if maybe a mistake was made on the part of his opponents. No matter. He will deal with the one who is attacking him.

As Fenwick begins his leap, Sig pulls a one-handed battle axe from his belt and readies it. He still has his lute in the other hand, and he flips it so that the strings face away from his opponent. Where the front of the instrument is finely crafted and made of wood, the back of the instrument is coated with a strange, off-color metal and seems to have seen it's share of damage. Dings and small nicks cover the still finely polished surface, although the most severe of these have been meticulously mended.

Yet Sig makes no effort to bring either of these forward. Instead, as Fenwick falls on him shouting and swinging his weapon, Sig returns the favor with a shout of his own. Only his shout appears to have more force behind it. (Wisdom: Spiritual Magic-STRIKING BALLAD)

Sig's shout echoes unnaturally across the area and a giant fist-shaped forceis created in front of him. This is launched towards Fenwick, who appears to be too committed to his attack at this point to abort. The fist collides with Fennwick and sends him flying backwards.

Sig capitalizes on the successful counter by leaping after the falling Fenwick with his axe held high. He isn't looking to gore the kid just yet. That wouldn't be sporting. Instead, at the apex of his swing, he turns the axe blade, letting the flat part of the battle-axe catch Fenwick in the skull, should the attack hit. A successful hit would not cut Fenwick, but it would definitely leave him feeling dizzy and may even stun him.

[Depheir Kogthar]

"Depheir! Sig!", shouted Fenwick.
Depheir stood still, as he didn't know which spell would be the best for now. He saw that Sembas already attacked Fury's son and Fenwick ran up to Sig, chanting a spell.

Sig... he was looking very "stable" and strong. Depheir didn't want to meet him in a close combat.
"Then I will stay at range."
Sig's shout echoed unnaturally across the area and a giant fist-shaped forceis created in front of him. This was launched towards Fenwick, who appeared to be too committed to his attack at this point to abort.

"I must invoke any spell to interrupt him!", Depheir decided and began to cast a spell.(Intelligence:Spellcasting-CONFUSION)

Bright, white arcane bolt fired out of Depheir's fingers at Sig's direction. If it will do what it was intended to do, Sig will become unable to do anything for a short period of time.

[Faidth]

@Sembas:

   Faile, her talons pointing outwards, careens towards Bran, then draws up sharply at the last moment. Bran’s eyes flick to the bird only briefly, as his attention is focused firmly on Sembas, who swipes at the young man’s legs with a well-placed blow from his spear. Bran moves, but the spear still manages to slam into his greaves.

   What happens next is both unexpected, and mildly painful. Sembas’s spear is exceptionally well-made, being constructed of diamond-infused Blue Steel. Had the young man before him been wearing normal armor, it is quite likely the tip of the spear would have penetrated the protective coverings upon Bran’s legs. However, as the tip of the spear connects with Bran’s armor, strange runes light up upon his greaves. A shock of lightning explodes from Bran’s armor, dances down Sembas’s spear, and sends a painful shock into the falconer’s hands, causing him to drop his weapon.

   Of course he would be wearing enchanted armor! Obviously the General and the Archon would go to great lengths to protect their youngest son. Seizing the opportunity, Bran kicks forward with his heavy, plate boot and slams the sole into Sembas’s chest, knocking him several yards backwards. The boy might be mortal, but his skills rival those of an Ageless. Obviously he inherited a great deal of his natural strength, dexterity, and constitution from his parents.

   Sembas lands hard upon his back as Bran, his broadsword and shield in hand, readies himself.


@Fenwick:

   Fenwick manages to cast his Strength spell upon Depheir, but the latter does not physically attack, thus not taking advantage of this well-intentioned action.
   In addition, Fenwick’s efforts to serve as a distraction have worked, perhaps too well.



@Sig:

   Sig’s powerful voice explodes from his lips, instantly knocking Fenwick to the ground. His axe swings forward and the flat of the blade crashes against Fenwick’s head. Fenwick is left feeling scrambled and dizzy in the aftermath of the powerful blow.


@Depheir:
   
   Depheir takes the opportunity to cast a spell, and his efforts are rewarded. Sig, the Chosen of Alviss, is affected with Confusion, but Depheir knows that the effect will be short-lived.