The War's Conclusion (10/06)

[00:03:36]
The Regent has drank deep of waters that people probably were not meant to drink from. The horns are new. The wings, even newer, and the golden gleam in her eye.

She is not the same woman since when Nova and her last crossed paths on the snowy plains south of Providence.

Something has scarred her terribly. Burns, bullet holes, all manner of trial has warped and twisted her flesh. Her prosthetic grows up her arm. To say nothing of the spaded tail that lashes behind her like an angry cobra, the leathery wings that branch from her back, or the horns that have grown from her head.

The fighting breaks out, forces clash, and the din of combat is almost deafening, but Dura spies her. The woman from the swamp.

It is strange, how it now comes full circle. She had resisted the allure of temptation once. She had been righteous.

And then the fall. The Regent pulls power into the crystal hand and advances. Sorcerous magic tinged with the essence torn from Sheol gathers.

"I don't fucking care what happens to these walls anymore," she snarls. To Nova, maybe to herself. "I don't care what happens to Providence. These corpses. But you? You're in my way now for something very important."

"I've got a SCORE TO SETTLE WITH A DRAGON !"

She starts to charge.
(Dura Levante)
[00:11:47]
She almost doesn't recognize who finds her, at first; the Wolf of Deliverance's gaze falls onto the horns, the tail, the dark wings - attributes she expects to see on anyone but the Regent of Providence.

When realization dawns on her, Nova almost laughs - the Azulan she'd faced, who had resisted the Void's temptation, now embracing the magic of Sheol itself - she'd heard, of course. Who hadn't caught wind of Dura Levante's 'Ascension'?

And still, it surprises her to notice it in person.

But there is no time to dwell on it; Deliverance and its armies are here for something very specific, and Nova is ready to see that mission through, no matter what it takes. Clutching her spear tighter, she points it forwards, straight at the Nephilim.

...yet no magic comes. No - instead, soldiers all around her, whose eyes shine brightly with the sickly green of Necromancy are made to shield her, standing in front of her. Undead, mindless men and women, bearing the insignias of Providence, Boundary, Urosil, Deliverance... all are lifting weapons and marching forward, ready to defend the wolf who controls them with little more than her will.

"I'm sorry, Dura. I've my own goals to achieve." Her voice is distant, almost monotone, as she speaks. There is no fury to mirror the Regent's snarl. There is only nigh-complete neutrality...

and a tinge of exhaustion.
(Nova)
[00:19:32]
The rumors were true.

To some, she has fallen. Fallen hard. To others, she has 'Ascended' to something greater.

Regardless of which way one's opinion might swing, it's clear Fah'Nadir's curse has hit her, and it has hit her hard. A far cry from the timid little thing that once visited the swamps in search of knowledge so long ago.

Last time her fury had been driven by a holy light and a desire to cleanse and cull. This is a wholly different beast.

It's the anguish and agony of something trapped and thrashing, a magic powerful, violent, yet unfamiliar.

The Regent charges recklessly into the ranks, unleashing Hell - or Sheol, on what she can reach.
(Dura Levante)
[00:19:32]
The rumors were true.

To some, she has fallen. Fallen hard. To others, she has 'Ascended' to something greater.

Regardless of which way one's opinion might swing, it's clear Fah'Nadir's curse has hit her, and it has hit her hard. A far cry from the timid little thing that once visited the swamps in search of knowledge so long ago.

Last time her fury had been driven by a holy light and a desire to cleanse and cull. This is a wholly different beast.

It's the anguish and agony of something trapped and thrashing, a magic powerful, violent, yet unfamiliar.

The Regent charges recklessly into the ranks, unleashing Hell - or Sheol, on what she can reach.
(Dura Levante)
[00:23:17]
Agony and fury meet tired blankness. The wolfkin, in response to Dura's reckless attacks.. steps back, and lets her shambling army do the job for her.

Her spear is swung, here and then, to direct her 'troops' - her soldiers grasp at the Regent's limbs, attempting to slow her down, to stop her --

Who knows how long they'll manage to hold her back.
(Nova)
And the undead horde marches on.

Animated soldiers, responding to their Necromancer's will, grasp at Dura's legs and arms; those who have weapons swing them with little care for what or who they may hit. To say it's a disorganized attack would be an understatement - many of Nova's shambling troops fall to attacks from the other undeads at their side.

And the ones that remain do not fare well, either; the Nephilim's attack, furious and reckless, get most of the animated soldiers to fall. Their weapons clatter to the ground, a cacophony of metal against stone only adding to the chaos of this entire situation. Their bodies follow soon after, dropping into bloodstained snow like puppets whose strings were cut.

And the more Dura advances, the faster Nova's heart beats. It's noticeable, how desperate she gets; the movements of her spear get frantic, her hold over her undead army is getting worse, and soon enough, she finds herself facing the Regent herself, the corpses of undead laying still on the ground.

From this close, at least, she can use her more vile powers directly; the cold around her grows, the eerie feeling of Undeath seeping through any armor, clothes, anything, gripping at Dura's core. Slowly, Nova begins draining life itself from the Nephilim, as she brandishes her spear and attempts to stab.

Attempts that are in vain, unfortunately for her - gritting her teeth, Nova soon finds herself unable to hit the nimble Azulan. That is- until she manages to finally catch her.

The tip of her spear hits the Regent straight in the chest; but the fact it's made of gems, of all things, proves to be disadvantageous. Bloodthorns are crushed against metal, shattering as they hit the Nephilim's armor.

But the force of the blow is mostly likely enough to knock the woman back. And so, using that to her advantage, Nova... darts away. She falls into sorcerous shadows, and quickly disappears, weaving back into crowds of soldiers to rejoin her companions' side,

more exhausted than ever.
(Nova)
The horde continues. Swathes of rotting corpses that threaten to consume Providence, impelled by those which give commands to the Risen.

There had been a time when Dura would have focused more on putting the Undead back to rest. As she is now, they are an afterthought as she advances on the true source of the machinations: the Necromancer herself.

They do their job well. Though their attacks uncoordinated, they admirably act as a wall which keeps the Regent, now little more than a sorcerous, feral gargoyle, at bay.

She takes the powers of Sheol in both hands for their fight, and now it wreaks its havoc on her.

Bone start to tumble. Weapons dig against her armor and into her flesh. There is a goal still clear in her mind.

Her fresh attunement to more nefariously aligned powers does not make her immune for the chill that wracks her body, nor the forces which pull at her life. There's the sweet, siren call to death, to die a second time, to be pulled under.

All she'd have to do was close her eyes. It would all be over.

That does not come to pass. Not today does she succumb to the chill. Her lithe footwork can only get her so far through the ranks and to Nova.

When she breaks through the throng she's caught, square in the chest, but the Bloodthorn-tipped spear.

Ah. Gems. It would be gems, wouldn't it?

The force is mighty, driven by a wildkin boxed into a corner and all the power that the intensity of Nova's resolve to drive her back lends.

The Regent, fatigued and sapped partially of life and driving force, falls backward to give her all the time she needs to escape.
(Dura Levante)
[01:28:58] Through it all, Providence's defenses hold firm. Despite the mountains being crumbled and cracked, their very foundations shaken and destroyed in the wake of Deliverance's forward advance, the imperial territory managed to beat them back when it mattered most.

The cold north remains in the hands of those who founded it and raised its walls.

--

DELIVERANCE vs PROVIDENCE BATTLE 3 - 4-6 PROVIDENCE VICTORY
Saint vs Maxwell - DELIVERANCE
Nova vs Dura - DELIVERANCE
Luka vs Iriel'sa - PROVIDENCE
Elizabeth vs Anreed - PROVIDENCE
Anivia vs Chanticleer - DELIVERANCE
Castilian vs Camilla - PROVIDENCE
Kailu vs Aeliana - PROVIDENCE
Merric vs Ithuriel - PROVIDENCE
Roland vs Zabukiel - DELIVERANCE
Stonesea vs CXX - PROVIDENCE

--

Near the docks, amidst the retreat, a final duel can be heard beginning as magic sparks to life. Anivia Evermore and Shepherd Olym have engaged one another in combat!

(No Deliverance Interventions will be allowed for that fight given the battle's IC, nor will any other staff sponsored fights be given. Everyone may stay to watch it if they'd like, but the retreat should be had at its close. Any conflict that breaks out will be subject to territory rules.

You may also leave now instead if you'd like.)
---------
[02:10:39]
After his battle with Maxwell had concluded and its contents had vastly been lost in the ocean of bodies both living and dead, the Risen had turned his attention upon the masses and attempted to surge Necromantic power into Providence's fallen-- and it was beginning to gain traction, the Animated rank rising upwards and wielding their weapons to use against the very forces they'd enlisted with.

Despite his attempts, however, it was too much to resist. The combined effort of Sarea's magi defending the north could not be combatted. The animated soldiers were burned, exploded, shredded and liquified en mass; being destroyed faster than he could raise them. Chartreuse and...something else pulsed through his veins as his rage grew, and the Risen appeared more manic than usual. Faedust powdered his face, ran through his body, and seeming up into the man's brain. His attacks were growing frantic as he realized the battle was turning.

In a flurry of motion Saint could be seen charging Providence's soldiers, slicing through them and shoving his clawed hands directly into their bodies-- even tearing free a spine or two that snapped from the vertebrae at either end. Screams rose from him, horrible and panicked, as even his own assault was driven back as the magi reached him proper; causing him to kick off from the ground and float backwards through the air.

Above the field, his attention settled upon one woman. Saint tremored, the faedust-infused Risen's jaw tightening as he shook with rage yet unseen. The Demonic presence was at its peak, every muscle in his body straining against the skin as he restrained himself from simply diving headfirst into the Sarean alliance to take whoever he could with him before being shredded. Instead his fury coalesced in a booming voice, distortion from the Aspect of Vengeance's influence permeating it--

"Damn you! Let Xi strike you dead Dura!"

Saint's teeth clench so hard they nearly crack under the force, before being thrown open again in a scream towards the heavens which was undoubtedly fueled by his manic faecrack-fueled state.

"HAAARK! Hark Deliverance, hark!"

Saint's blade of Ultimatum swung forward, aiming the end of it down towards Dura in particular.

"Bellow, bid our Mother the Spirit of Preservation rise from the mountains full foul in her fury! Emerald waves teeming with presevation to smother this accursed filth with cold undeath, to choke ye, freezing your organs til' ye turn blue and rigid with frost and ice and can scream no more -"

A froth formed on Saint's mouth, spit mixed with a black ichor that was sourced from internal wounds still in the process of healing.

"- only when she, adorned in Karrador's crown with burning eyes and frigid presence take up her felfire be-scarred arm, her terrible scythe screeches banshee-like in the silence and plunges right through yer gullet, severing ye - a frosted corpse no more, but a blasted drop of naim now and nothing for Nevanerro to pull and claw and feed upon only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite flow of The Styx itself - forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any Eidolon or Spirit, forgotten even to The Styx, for any stuff for part of Dura, even any scantling of your soul is Dura no more, but is now itself The Styx!"

The Risen suddenly turned in the air, BOOMING out a single command to the remaining animated and the forces of Deliverance.

"RETREAT!"

At that, all animated who still stood turned and began to run on a dime. With them were ushered the members of Deliverance, as Saint screams across the sky and blazes away in a streak of cerulean ghostfire; the fog of naim lifting with the absence of his presence and the frigid winds of undeath fleeting in the same manner.
(Saint Evermore)