'You Must Live'

It's an odd thrill. To lead the men through the lands like this, to scour for any Gehennans.

But to digress, with the threat that southerners posed, there's no time to rest for the Rowan. The argument held sense in it; how long it would be until Gehennans target Valmasians, as soon as Crafthold is razed? Perhaps they were to put themselves a target by getting involved, but alas, there's no way they would not be involved in the future.

The activity of Deseti only confirmed as such.

Something wicked this way comes. A chill in the air, the corruption of Chaos that could be sensed a mile away by someone attuned by Arcane- it's not that Arthur didn't know what's coming, no. He wanted it to get closer, and did not flee at the first opportunity. A grasp, a vine's grip that stretches across the leg of one of his soldiers, as nature itself protested to their presence--

-- immediately intercepted by Arthur's razor-sharp gust of wind, cutting it off.

He knew what's coming. Maybe Sibri did not participate in warfare actively, or at least not often, but the prowess of Cruxati's Chieftain was often rumoured, resting as a gossip on the wind that flowed through Agartha. He barks an order to his soldiers.

"Run!"

"Do not look back. This is something I must face. Run and report back at home that if I do not return, they can assume the worst."

The scarlet hues of Adjudicator turned, carefully scanning the surroundings. This Dryad had to be somewhere, and obviously, there's no way he could topple Arthur with vines alone.

"Come out."

The grasp to his staff, and the Heaven's Render glowed, arcs of electricity sparking an inch away from the ball of power that rested on its top. Even though he had all the reasons to give in to fear, he did not- it did not stop his heart from beating hard, from thrumming in anticipation of what's to come.

Thud, thud, thud...

"I said, come out!"
(Arthur Rowan)

The swamplands and jungle were his element- from the pools of thick sludge to the twisted, denuded trees that loomed over them. It was hospitable to few, but one thing was for certain: this dreary part of the world was testament to the adaptability of plantlife. The vines that dangled down from the tall, ancient bark blocked out the sun, save for a few wisps of light, and Arthur appeared very much surrounded...

...as if the swamp itself was encircling in on him, staring from every corner...

"You said alone," came a voice out of the mist, echoing in every direction, "Kehkeh! But look-" Another inquisitive vine wrapped around one of Arthur's undead minions, coiling against the rotten flesh like a snake might. "Do not worry, little-Valmasian. I have friends of my own, too..."

A pool of swampwater, thick with algi, then erupted to Arthur's west- and out of the dark green liquid, Sibri dashed forward, the spire shards at his chest glimmering with every possible color. The pink glow in his eyes cut through the fog, illuminating the mad smile he wore. He struck forward with his arcanium staff- sending a spiral of the swampwater toward Arthur, along with his creatures of nature.
(Sibri)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 10)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 9)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 8)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 7)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 6)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 5)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 4)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 3)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 2)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 1)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: Go!)

This was unlike any other fight that he's had.

The thrill of fighting for his life was not an uncommon feeling to Arthur. Though, fought against a Chaos magi that exceeds him in power? No, that's not something he's done just yet. There's an air of uncertainty that lingers in his mind, almost that of regret- was it wise to let go of his soldiers like that? Maybe they were able to help him?

On the other hand, it would likely just doom them to death in here. No, he had to fight without his comrades.

"Attack the dryad! Keep the vines off me! Do not let him recover!"

Barking orders to the undead minions he was in possession of, the morality, the ideals that slavery was wrong quickly disappeared under the pressure of one's life being in danger. When all of his future, when all of his desires, goals, dreams are put on the line - everything that he is, and everything that he could ever be, there's no 'right' or 'wrong'.

There's only him, Sibri, and the Fate that observes the two. It might turn into battle where only one magi walks out alive, it might not- it wasn't any less dangerous because of a mere chance.

The Storm, the Wind, the Water and the Arcane. And the terrifying, invasive power of blood.

It's amidst the combat he manages to catch a grasp off Sibri, it's only then he seizes the opportunity to truly assault him with everything he's got- and despite the heavy resistance, the overwhelming sheer strength of a more powerful, refined Chaos that he takes right to the face, he pushes through.

"You won't-- persist!"


A blast, and Sibri is shown just what Valmasian is capable of. He's tumbling and rolling, but Arthur isn't unharmedeither- despite the effort of his minions, the blood spills from his form, and the battered appearance is apparent.

"Get up!"
(Arthur Rowan)

The Dryad's cackles echo throughout the swamp even with the dull, aching thing of his blood leaving him from an aquatic whip that was sharp as any steel- it cut against his back, right to the bone. "Yes-yes, I almost forgot the fire that burns in our youth... It is good to see that it's in ample supply, even within demon-worshippers and corpse-walkers... Kehkeh!"

Some distance had been established between himself and Arthur. The Dryad's pink eyes shone like two broken, pink lights, dimming out occasionally. As he bled, and his lifeblood intermingled with the dreary swampland, it fed into the mandrakes- more of them wiggled out of the damp dirt, joining the dryad's side... Along with the pale blue vines, thorned with purpose.

"Yes...To suffer is to be alive, keeh. Letmeshowyou." His grin vanished, and not a second later a whorl of blue petals, razor sharp, swam out of his sleeves- hundreds of them diving straight for Arthur. The Dryad was fully serious now.
(Sibri)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 10)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 9)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 8)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 7)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 6)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 5)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 4)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 3)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 2)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 1)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: Go!)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 10)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 9)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 8)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 7)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 6)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 5)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 4)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 3)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 2)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: 1)

{RP BATTLE} (COUNTDOWN: Go!)

{RP BATTLE} YOU ROLLED 5 OR OVER: You have survived combat without any serious injuries.

{RP BATTLE} YOU HAVE ROLLED 2 OR OVER: You have evaded capture by your enemy! (Unless otherwise specified, your character may escape captivity)

The terrain became all the more dangerous when those cruel petals swam with the mist, unseen until the last moment- they scattered, and Arthur would have a difficult time blasting them away in each attempt they made for his throat... Or the gaps between his armor that were exposed.

Then there was the Dryad himself, manipulating the swamp waters, or the sludgy earth that sought to swallow the Valmasian. Vines draped down from the trees, losing their usual dark green to transform into that sickly winter blue.

In the chaos of battle, the tempature dropped until their breathing was pale in the air. The space around them disorted and shimmered with the corruptive energies. Death was looming.

"Keeh..." It hissed out of his throat, piercing through the air. Like a serpent set on its prey.
(Sibri)

This was not just the fight of ideals, but life for one's life.

There's a gasp. Staggered from the temporary defeat, Adjudicator finds himself working on the body's diminishing resources; his will and spirit were strong, but his flesh had its limits. There's only so much physical punishment he could take until he inevitably, and painfully... breaks. Such limits were pushed as far as even possible at all, but Arthur refused to yield.

"You're-- *coughs* wrong!"

He roars across the battlefield. The briefest moment of respite allowed naught but a sentence just before the hell would unfold itself, but he took the opportunity to speak. Why? He had no faith, no hope that Sibri would see his point- not like he would see Dryad's, so such expectation was futile.

To reinforce one's spirit, perhaps?"

"We fight, because your people will cull mine eventually! We fight, because you bathe in corruption as you point at ours! We fight, because we must!"

A lunge. There's no restrain to Arthur as he tries to fight back with all that he has, a grip and twist at every petal that tries to end his life, and the lightning with razor-sharp winds that coursed through the whole battlefield, slicing and dicing everything it could reach.

Thud... thud...

With each passing heartbeat, he could feel his body slowly giving in. Each inhale became a struggle, each bead of sweat rolling by the side of his head pointed at exhaustion that ravaged his body, and the crimson that spilled from his wounds only meant the end is near.

Is this where he dies?

'You must live.'
'You must live.'
'You must live.'

So much more to do, so many dreams to accomplish. Maybe it was the hidden reserve he tapped into, maybe it was the connection to Arcane that gave him strength, but--

A blast.

Everything, petals and vines, mandrakes, even his undead minions - everything is ravaged, destroyed, annihilated into a singular blast of power that came from his resolve. Silence.

--But when the clouds of smoke and steam dissipate, there's no Arthur. He escaped?
(Arthur Rowan)

There's something that heralds approach of the wounded Adjudicator.

Valmasian soldiers have fled, exhausted, making their way across large distances of the Agartha- despite being unscathed, there's a terror in their eyes, akin to they've seen something absolutely terrifying.

Seconds, minutes, hours pass...

And he appears. Covered in his own blood, and the blood of his enemy alike, the half-closed eye of the Rowan guides him home. He's exhausted, each and every sharp inhale and exhale taking far more energy from him that they should; his body seems almost shredded, the crimson leaking from every hole and dent in his armor.

It was something brutal.

Even then, there's a glare to his eye, determined to make it back. Something else thrums in his head and heart, echoing, guiding him past any obstacle that he may encounter on Agartha, all to make sure that he's safe and sound.

'You must live... you must live...'

A newfound connection, or newfound power? He didn't know. Until he's rested, that whisper in his head remained a mystery he could not understand.

But he obeyed it.
(Arthur Rowan)

For Hearth and Home.

 There are many things that could potentially happen from these wars. And there are many things that she is most certainly sure that might not flow over too well within the future. Valmasia's intervening within the war was a smart move...One that had needed to be done- for she knew that exclusion could most certainly mean the death of them. But...The thought of actually faltering to another, the thought of 'dying' to a being is much more difficult than what one could possibly imagine. The heart flutters, uncertainty becomes bundled with anticipation as she watches body after body return home.

 Some dead.
 Some alive.
 Some struggling to return to others.

 And she plays her role- she plays it terribly, terribly well. Even in the midst of all of the doubt, she keeps her hands to her chest...And when she sees the shadow of a familiar figure within the distance, she is one of the first ones tomove forward, her lithe being taking off within his direction - a smile upon her features to welcome him back within her arms and yet, what she sees is nothing but horror.

 Much to her own chagrin, there is blood. So much of it. Bits and pieces of metal broken, pushing into wounds. The faint glint within his stare...A moment of defiance. It is something that makes him out to be the man that she had once fell in love with. The man that had looked at the impossible and damned it to all hell. The man that stands against this realm instead of flowing with it...

 He is welcomed back with a kiss- gentle, passionate, both hands framing his features...Her body kneeling carefully, to serve as what would seem to be a 'crutch' for the Rowan. "-...I know it's not easy." she says softly. "But tell me- what happened? How-...Who did you fight?" She would never believe that someone bested him. No, she can only imagine that tooth and nail is often what comes of situations such as this...And his livelihood?- all based around success...

"...Arthur-..Let's go home, let me fix you."
(Bei Bei)

The defiance was the core of his character.

No matter the physical punishment he's suffered in this battle, no matter the fact that he barely escaped alive, he wanted to return one day... and battle Sibri all over again. But why? Wouldn't it be safer to simply abstain, to leave the war and let these things sort out for themselves?

Perhaps. That's not who he is, however.

With every step, there's crimson that spills down on the fields. With every step, it almost looks like he's about to fall, to surrender himself to the darkness, to let the death have its grip over him at last. It feels like such a tempting offer, to simply stop fighting and let go already. There's no struggle in death, there's no pain, no suffering.

'I refuse.'

The only thought that repeats itself in his mind. He must live... no matter what. And when she greets him with a kiss, he's reminded why he decided that he should live no matter what, that he should not succumb to the embrace of death and let go.

He'd even try to return the welcoming gift, but... he had no strength left. Even when she serves as a crutch, he almost stumbles and falls, his visage filled with obvious pain and suffering from every wound that he sustained. His teeth grit, his eyesight darkens, and it almost seems like he just passed out... for naught but a split-second.

Yet, he stands. As always, full of resolve. But is it his resolve? Or... something else that keeps him going?

"It's-- mmpph--.." - he struggles to speak, and it's evident why. A sharp inhale, before he tries again, - "--Sibri. I was... I was close... I almost had him... almost... I..."

He cannot keep going. All of this blood lost, all of this pain, it's too much. Only instinctively, through the sheer willpower, he still somewhat stands, but uses her as something to entirely rely on.

If she wasn't here? He would've fallen on the ground, unconscious.
(Arthur Rowan)