(Sorry, Des, we'll wait for Foun. If he doesn't show by tomorrow we'll continue without him.)

Foun knew that this was not going to happen. Not now not ever he had remembered his time as a mad one. There was no real honor, although metatron had had a penchant for it in small amounts. He smiles putting his hand on the sand psychoportation was a beautiful thing. His green eye blazing as he begans psychoporting sand into the enemies bodies.

(am I still here? if I am...)

Maxine ducked and rolled to the side immediately, moving faster than if she had just ran. She swung her blade in a precise arc to create a current of razor-sharp wind, sending it hurtling at the three gathered cultists. The whole process took about two seconds, and she then assumed a guard position to fend off any attackers as she surveyed the situation. The satisfying weight of the sabre her hand told she could cleave this men in half if need be. If only she had a gun, this would have been over before it started!
This message was last edited by the player at 01:49, Wed 04 Nov 2009.

(Max, you'd left, sorry.)

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

As Foun used his psionic abilities upon the sand, only two of the unmarked cultists fell to thr ground, clutching their hearts and screaming softly. The others were born of Sand, had received the Invocations, and remained unharmed.. Foun saw three more of them, two with stripes, move towards him, blades in hand..

The cultist leader had accepted Desafon's duel with a nod. Desafon knew he would be an extremely capable fighter. Another, unmarked cultist, had gotten in their way and the Pirate cut him down. With a roar, the two lunged at each other, blades flying.. Desafon knew the guy was fast..

     Desafon was fast as well, however, invoking his Fury of the Duel against the opposing swordsman. "If you are a servant of the Mad Gods, send the one in my realm a message when you die. That I don't appreciate uninvited guests." He growls, getting into the conflict though trying to calculate his opponent's defenses as he fights.

He smiled the battle would be fitting remembering the fury of seeing crailek on the ground he would began teleportation mixed with fighting. Porting all over the place would make him difficult to track. Focusing more on offense then defense since he could port the moment he saw an attack. He made sure to watch their moves carefully so that he didn't accidentally port into a blade. Also using the spirit of murpheous to enhance his fighting skills. The aura of the heart may negate any negative energy as well.

Anik appeared here... why was he here? To gather ingredence of course! The sands of the city would provide a supernatural element filled with power. As for OsirisRa... he remembered him, who couldn't. He had watched as he took on several of the high councle and destroied most of them before needing to retreat. Not sure what happened after that. Anik walked calmly towards the city, should any sign of trouble appear... the would find the powers of a craftsman works well in a place filled with the ingredients of glass.

Anik stops in his tracks... and looks around. Something didn't feel right, here, something errly familar. He left.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:26, Sun 08 Nov 2009.

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

"Mad Gods?" growls the head cultist, deflecting one of Desafon's near-perfect blows. "Ha! Hahaha!"

Apparently, he found the idea funny.

The duel continued, with no real advantage gained by either individual. They were both good. Desafon would occasionally nick the cultist using his Duel power, but the cultist himself, blade flashing, seemed to have combat powers of his own.. incredible speed, strength to shatter blades perhaps not as finely made as the Efficients..

Foun struck another man, taking him by surprise, and he fell, dead - but soon after, Foun stumbled instead of disappearing, his head filled with pain, and he knew he could teleport no more. Another cultist moved up to him, smashed his blade aside, and pierced Foun in the gut with his heavy saber. Foun, bleeding, fell to the ground..

Foun grips his stomach he had overdone it to a point evidently. He would need to be healed quickly and magic was not an option it was too slow and complicated. Fleeing? That wasn't an option he needed to fight and he would building rage he remembers a saying he once heard. 'If a man doesn't care what he loses in the process even his life to bite your ear off he's more then likely going to bite your ear off.' Crailek's face in his mind he decided to do just that. Beastly rage bellowing forth as he charges not caring if the next blow is the death blow as long as he brings this guy down with him. Three targets are possible there is the jugular and the bridge of the nose and the eyes. A strong enough hit to the jugular to stun then to then to the nose upward enough could be a killing blow if that didn't work the eyes well that's just fun.

     Hoping to have taken advantage of the laughter, he realized that he himself was caught unaware at that moment, unable to make a decent strike at that point, "I take it you aren't from a Mad God?" He asks, uncertain just what he was fighting, "Ah, well, you're still one heck of a combat practice." He says, fixing in a little bit of his godly luck ability as he tries to get another good hit in with his Fury of the Duel, "And by the way, I am the God of the Duel."

The Pirate and the Magiscientist

As Foun threw himself at the man, clawing and biting and ripping and fighting, the Cultist fell, stunned. Foun tasted blood in his mouth, and the last thing that he realized before he was decapitated rather spectacularly was that he'd ripped out the man's throat with his teeth. As he fell, he fell satisfied..

Desafon saw Foun die, heard his screams, but did not turn. He was better than that. He knew how to fight. Turning would be death. Sparks flew. The swords were flashes in the air, clattering and screaming as the went to war. The cultist leader parried, riposted, fought back, stepped back, parried again..

The other cultists did not interfere. They knew what this meant.

Desafon was hot - quickly running out've strength - but he knew the cultist must be feeling the same thing.

"God - of the - Duel?" said the Cultist, spinning wildly - the attack, of course, was parried. "Such an - able - able fighter. Why not - join us?"

     Desafon chuckles, though in truth he is definitely feeling the effects of the heat. Unfortunately he isn't stronger with magic or else he might be able to manipulate the forces of Chance instead of simply reading the statistics. He draws upon whatever strength he can, continuing to fight as he may, "I don't... even know... what you're called. Or about. Lastly... I don't like the heat!" He says, trying to back up enough to use magic that he had only just now recalled, dabbling with his powers of Water to summon enough water to cool his body down even just a little to continue on.

Raelis appears here, his portal a link to his own past when he walked these streets in their heyday.  He concentrates hard on returning to the house he once owned in this realm.

Desafon

Desafon didn't have the mental energy to spare to engage in a little act of magic.

He felt himself getting worn down. It was so hot, and he was so tired.. the blades shimmered, danced, clashed.. he stepped forward, back, matching, parrying..

Raelis

(OOC: You actually owned a house in Tushmuthut?)

Soon, Raelis is halted by an official looking cultist bearing a silver strikes on his torso and a single silver blade.

The cultist gave no introduction, instead preferring to throw himself at Raelis with a bloodcurdling cry.

(Well I lived here for several years so I must have had a home of some sort.  That being said the house could easily be long gone and would certainly be looted)

Raelis reacted without a thought at the sight of the charging cultist.  One hand comes up and a power word streaks out at the cultist.  BLIND.

Raelis moves backwards, his almost visible lips curving into a grimace.  His voice when he speaks is flat and emotionless.

"I am Raelis of Litheris.  You will contact Osiris and inform him the ninth of the black council wishes to speak with him forthwith."

Desafon

(repeat)

Desafon didn't have the mental energy to spare to engage in a little act of magic.

He felt himself getting worn down. It was so hot, and he was so tired.. the blades shimmered, danced, clashed.. he stepped forward, back, matching, parrying..

Raelis

The Cultist, perhaps blind - perhaps not - screamed and struck Raelis with his long silver blade. Raelis felt a serious physical discomfort as he staggered, fell, cut by the Blade of the Sun.

Raelis swivelled and hurled another power word at the cultist this time ceasing to even attempt to save his life.

WOUND  hurled itself at the cultist's throat attempting to slash it open even as Raelis rolled sideways in the dust to open up distance between himself and the cultist.

     Desafon could do little else than attempt to defeat this Heathen Cultist, this monstrous and possibly honor less Curr of a salt dog. "I do wish we could continue this in a more controlled climate than this blasphemous desert. It's getting too warm out here to fight in true fashion." Even though he was losing, Desafon attempts to continue onward at least a little more.

Desafon

The swords were mercury, slipping and slashing in the heat of the sun, almost liquid, and the battle continued.

Suddenly, without action from Desafon, the Blades of Efficiency struck out, hitting the Cultist's own blade and sending it flying off. He was unarmed, now. Two other Cultists looked on eagerly, but Desafon knew they were not going to interfere.

Raelis

The wound struck true; the Cultist screamed, dropped the weapon, and clutched his throat. Raelis was aware of his screams attracting the attention of other Cultists - if he weren't careful, he'd have a legion on his hands.

Raelis looked around him and then gestured.

"ENFLAME"

He attempted to evoke a circle of flame round himself and the fallen cultist before walking forward and attempting to pick up the sword.  As he did so his bellow split the night.

"I am Raelis and I seek Osiris.  If I have to destroy this city I will despite having lived here.  Eridu was greater than Tushmuthut and it fell before me.  Do not believe that I will spare you if you oppose me."

     Desafon looks to the Cultist that he has disarmed, "Knave, last time I had allowed an enemy to yield they shot me in the back. I will give you a similar chance, though this time my eyes will remain on you. I will allow you to surrender and explain to me what is going on, and hopefully you will also share some water with me and I shall spare your life. My mission isn't to kill cultists, but rather to understand what is going on that I might stop whatever evil is afoot. Of course, if that evil is your master than perhaps I should not spare you."

Desafon

"Just kill me," said the Cultist through clenched teeth. "Kill me and get it over with. I need no mercy."

Raelis

There was a sudden silence. As if everything had stopped moving - as if everything had gone. Still, nothing came to meet him. The sword felt heavy in his hands.

Raelis turned around to face the fallen cultist.

"Let us see if your master can be called by your blood then." The flat emotionless

The sword descended, flashed silver in the sunlight and the silver turned gradually to red.

Finally the bleeding wreck lay on the sand.

"Listen all of you.  I am Raelis of Litheris.  Long ago I walked the streets of this city and called it home. One of you has attacked me and paid the price.  Find me Osiris or another of his trusted servants."

Sura appeared here, heading for the city.

     Nodding, Desafon decides that though he isn't a cold-blooded killer that this being is indeed an evil being that needs to be removed (just like the Mad God in his realm). He ensures that the cultist's death is swift if possible and readies himself in case the other cultists turn towards him. Otherwise, he's prepared to grab anything of worth on the man (including religious symbols on both him and any of the other fallen cultists) and removing this paradox just long enough to make himself more comfortable and less dry.