AW Dev

[20:39] Kt sprinted through the town setting fire to various buildings The plan was diversion. He had to remind himself that. The barbaric atrocities were nothing compared to what the infamous 'Sors' was capable of. It may have seemed like wild hell-fire but he was dead set on reducing civilian casualties, if any all. He didn't need to kill, and he didn't need to draw blood. There was no need for any of that.

Kt threw a blazing torch through a city building. The lights were off. It looked abandoned. Perhaps these were the former guards or craftsman of the tower they had recently obliterated a few months back ...

..Good, no civilian casualties. Nobody needed to die for this. No more blood.

Kt felt a strong presence. There was a dark presence. An ancient aura. An Oscuri, was it?


" ... "

Kt felt no need to try and justify his action. He didn't want to speak and anger the Oscuri. He didn't want to try to convince her that this was all in the name of the 'Greater Good,' although it's truly what he believed in his heart. Still, his beliefs were tested, time and time again. When was it he decided he would walk his own path?


Kt stood before the Oscuri. He spoke no words but looked at her with a saddened look. Almost as if to apologize for his actions.
(Kt Mori)
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[20:45] The streets where chocked with tight packed groups of civilians, living and dead. All attempting to flee to the citadels or churches which could offer protection. Where another cities civilians might have panicked and simply stampeded. The people of Dawn lived and breathed war. They'd move with a desperate discipline, attempting to escape as fast as possible.

Ascalon rounded the street, just exciting the market where he'd been buying tomatoes. To see a group of raiders pillaging a small square. Their torches burning the nearby houses, ropes tossed about a statue to the Savior, swords aimed at innocent undead. In a rush of the winds the young Zanders rushed onto the scene.

His whip cracked like thunder over the din of the square. Each sound accompanied by the shouting of injured men, cracking through to save the undead, the non-magi soldiery unable to withstand the fury of an Oscuri.

Yet, as soon as they where saved Dawnishmen rounded the corner to tieup the rest of the raiders. All except what appeared to be a commander in the raid. Tossing a torch into one of the buildings, a domestic one. The young Zanders emerald hues narrowed, a southener. They'd crack the whip to the side, blazing reika coating their form as they leveled fiery emerald hues upon the southerner.

The pulse of reika about his frame betrayed a deep setting rage. "You southeners really do only know Kraus' war! Was the civilian homes all you had the gale to burn?!"

The Zanders kept a distance as they looked the man over. Perhaps burning their face into memory. "Kneel or be knelt, the choice is yours."
(Ascalon Zanders)
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[20:46] Kt Mori says, ". . ."
[20:46] Kt Mori says, "I'm so sorry."
[20:49] ** Kt Mori has inflicted an injury upon Ascalon Zanders. ("Permanent Injury", "Permanent Injury", "Permanent", "Severity: MODERATE (-10 Vit)") **
[21:08] Kt knew strength when he saw it. The Oscuri battled with a vicious might, as expected of their powerful race. It was more fear than anything that kept Kt sprinting through the town, ducking and weaving through burning buildings and running through thinned corridors. Her whip skills were ferocious, and dare one could even call Legendary. Perhaps if this sprig were allowed to blossom, true strength could be obtained, true power could be displayed, and true might could be feared. Kt knew it all too well.

THWACK!!
"Mm!"
Kt felt an intense pain. A serrated whip had torn his forearm. He tried to not cry out in pain, wanting to appear completely emotionless on the battlefield, a terrible trait within the Mori. He heaved air through his teeth and gripped the whip around his wrist, and then tangled through his fingers.

He yanked the whip and brought the young teenager in closely, and seared the left side of her face, a permanent burn that would bring him to his knees. Kt would then look down upon the Oscuri, shedding tears while still holding their whip, and deliver a swift blow to their sternum with a rock fist, possibly dislocating a few ribs, and cracking their sternum.

Kt felt himself ashamed for laying his fist on a child, especially one he considered to be the victim. It was in the burning city of Dawn, with supplied stolen and buildings demolished, what had the Mori become?

Kt looked down at the Oscuri in their writhing agony. He choked and held back tears, revealing his own weakness. He spoke through broken sentences and heavy breaths.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry ..."
Kt knelt down to tend to their injury, he couldn't stand himself, but he remembered why he was here. Shedding tears, he would take one final glance at the Oscuri before fleeing the town known as 'Dawn.'




(Kt Mori)
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[21:27] The young lion of Dawn was an inexperienced when it came to war as always. No matter how well trained you could be, when faced with the real thing? Well, you inevitably chocked.

He'd battle the holy magme mage, struggling to his footing amid the shifting and flaming earth. Weaving amid spikes of stone, twirling out of molten stone, diving away from walls of flame. They'd never fought many magi, of the few it was celestials.

This was different, there was something more brutal about it. Perhaps it was the eagerness to end that fight and keep his skin intact that lead him to keep ahold of the whip when it became entangled.

The shock that cracked their visage once he'd jerked was as clear as day. As the teen, being rather light they couldn't offer a great deal of resistance, was hauled in close. Their shock shifted to pain quickly.

Even as the burns first began their voice had already started to scream in pain. A shrill shriek as they their eye melted in it's socket and the searing around socket began.

That scream ended as quickly as it began as they felt a thudding weight into their sternum. The air which often blessed them escaped in a gasp, they felt the bones cracking, breaking.

Their legs buckled and they dropped upon the stone hard. Struggling to breath as they writhed in pain, hand brought up to cover their face. Splattering of blood as they coughed, internal bleeding having began upon impact.

He'd struggle to stay awake. Each moment bringing them closer to what they feared as death. After all, they'd been told since birth that death was the only outcome for defeat for an Oscuri.

It was in those moments of pain and anguish that he'd catch glimpses at a realm. Not the burning hellscape of the city he was sword to defend, but an idyllic pasturage. It was blurry as if seen through an eye that' just had dirt in it.

Though they'd never stopped writhing their consciousness shifted. Looking into the realm beyond, at the beauty that existed there. The realm of spirits, on display in it's glory.

In the real world the mori spoke, though Ascalon's pain made such an effort futile. They still turned to the sound. As they did they saw not Kott Mori but the spectral form of a blazing figure, with fiery hair and a confident smile.

It was that image that accompanied the Oscuir as they lsot what consciousness they had. Their thrashing ending as their form went slack in the street. Until help should arrive.
(Ascalon Zanders)
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[21:43] Laying amid the rubble of a destroyed stall, there'd be an unconscious Zanders. Notable they'd vicious burns across one side of their face. Where they'd once had a vibrant left eye there was now only an empty socket. Based on the extremely shallow breaths they where taking perhaps their sternum and rib-cage had also suffered damage.
(Ascalon Zanders)