Seneca and Ryohr Crosspoint of Wills

[21:08] It seems Seneca had gotten what he'd wanted. The effort to find Ryohr was not wasted.

On that dark night, just after midnight, there's a rustle in the distance and then the sounds of hard boot hitting cobblestone. And soon, that hooded, cloaked being comes into view with eyes a stark gold. Their features hidden underneath a material mask and the shadow of the hood that lies over them, but those eyes seemed to eerily stick out.

"You again."

Those words leave in a deep tone. The light of Seneca's torch settles and shows the beginning of Ryohr's being. A staff, that same gold-trimmed cloak that shines when the light hits it and the armor beneath. The same person that attacked the park not that long ago.
(Ryohr)
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[21:14] Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death.

Torch flared to life, casting the light in a calming arc outwards from the woman's post upon the southern bridge. Serving as a beacon to those weary travelers who approached so late from the south.

There gaze shifts southwards, the sounds of hard leather striking cobblestone unmistakable in the late night's quiet stillness. Then the figure walked into the very edges of the light.

They might have not been recognized where it not for those piercing golden hues. A rhoynishman, but which clan? That was something Seneca had been wondering for a while now.

"Ah, you've come to accept my offer of help?"

The words rang out, drifting along the winds between the two. A soft eagerness to them that might have been more at home in a scene with two old friends not mortal enemies.
(Seneca)
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[21:19] Champloo sniffed Seneca's face. Then yawned.
(Champloo Borin)
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[21:19] Seneca smelt of lavender-tinged with smoke.
(Seneca)
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[21:20] Champloo nodded, a perfect smell. MANLY.
(Champloo Borin)
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[21:25] There's a soft eagerness to Seneca's words, that isn't particularly shared with how Ryohr speaks. The tension that hangs in the air wasn't nearly as steep as it should have been. Perhaps because no magic was at play.. yet.

"You're not the first to offer. And I'll deny it each time." A hand grips the staff along Ryohr's back and points the edge of the weapon at the woman.

"I fight for freedom. A different path for the downtrodden of Osrona. A mere offer for help won't change my mind." Those eyes narrow into a hard, trained glare, the birth of emotions that settled within the man underneath the cloak and hood. The grip on his staff tightens, anger coming into play and bringing out the force of his magics.. the ground beneath starts to crack. Yet, there was no attack.
(Ryohr)
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[21:35] Seneca's hands came to settle at there hips, a soft sigh escaping there lips as they did so. A slight shift let one of those hips jut out.

"I'm, not the first sure. We're human, you'll always have those who want to help you but hey? Maybe I can be the FIRST that you accept?" As they spoke violet hues began to glow softly, taking on serpentine quality. Shimmering silver scales reflecting the torch's light as they looked across the bridge. A torc, akin to dragon's roaring at each other twinkles gold upon there bicep.

"You're fighting for freedom but you've caught a sickness. Occultism isn't meant for people you know. It's a demon's magic. It's made you sick." As they spoke they'd tap bring a hand to settle upon there blade. Then they'd gaze up towards the sky, looking towards the moon.

"You know if you're fighting for freedom you're on the wrong side anyways." As he spoke a hand gestured back towards the city. "Lots of good people in that city. Sure they pay taxes and some are even in chains but you know what? That can change with some laws... The chains not taxes. That'll always be a thing."

Then a finger pointed towards the far off tower or in it's direction. "A world rulled by them isn't going to change. They'll spread sickness, death, and slavery of every man, woman, and child they can. Forever, because of the whole immortality thing."

Then with a little shift, they'd unfurl there wings behind them. A thick tail starting to grow along with those wings. Twin horns curving up from there skull as the mana fed into the draconic gifts.

"So, what do you say?" As they spoke, there free hand extended outwards towards the other side of the bridge.

"Want to take my hand this time?"
(Seneca)
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[21:54] Those first words of Seneca warrant a blank stare, unnerving in nature. And those eyes don't change much even as the warrior opposite goes through a metamorphosis. A tail, wings, shimmering scales and violet eyes that become serpent slits.

"It changes with power, not laws. Whoever's in charge. Who achieves victory decides what happens next. As for the demons, I'll deal with that when it happens," they do not even bother looking in the direction of the tall, demonic tower in the distance. It seemed they weren't particularly tied to the idea of it. Instead, their eyes on that golden torc around Seneca's arm a moment.

Their other hand rises and clenches to a fist in front of them. "Occultism is a curse. It's not meant for man. You have to sacrifice everything for it. But that's a sacrifice I'm willing to take," the hellish magic burns to life, encapsulating Ryohr's hand and then overtaking his body inthis crackling, orange-purple flame that consumes him. The foul stench of occultism.

"To rid Osrona of its leaders, to get vengeance on those that've wronged my people."
Their staff tilts and a heavy force falls upon the area, gravity taking hold and would've forced the knees of weak civilians to buckle. They gear up to battle, as Seneca's last question is responded to. The offer of help, salvation.

"No."
(Ryohr)
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[22:03] Seneca's smile almost faltered, then with a light laugh. Like a bell being rung to summon people for dinner. They'd grip the blade's hilt, pulling it free in a fluid motion. Lifting it up high for a moment as they shifted into a ready-made stance.

"Then, I am forced to... Well force, my help. For that I do apologize." As they spoke they'd shift closer, there feet barely inching towards the occultist. Taking there advance slowly as they spoke.

"As for our people... War, war was something desired by those who ruled and it is war that has left this bitter scar. One that we must heal. Together."

As they spoke, there right hand shifted into a vicious looking draconic limb. Talons jutting forth from conjoined fingers. The silver limb rose up, half-obstructing those slits of glowing violet. The pulse of the dragon within there body, they knew that they could call more from that innder source of power. Call more outwards and as they looked inwards. The blessings of there race coming to bear they felt there body re-aligned slightly. Felt the bone's stretch and strengthen. Felt his muscles dense and tear as he called forth more.

This wasn't a Kaor but it was a chance to see how far he could push his body. How far the limits of Kraus' design could be changed. Though it began with the smallest steps it was where greatness came from.

"I apologize for this, but once you've been cleansed of your Occultism you'll thank me I am sure of it." Then,they burst into action. There feet kicking them off of crumbling stones as those great wings extended to bring them to fly.

Right at Ryohr!
(Seneca)
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[22:12] "You are Rhoynish. Then you know how your people have suffered." Ryohr's grip on their staff becomes iron-clad as Seneca charges right at Ryohr. Those wings flap, the draconic warrior soaring through the air. The occultist braces their staff for collision, where talon and sword would meet flesh and stave.

"We'll see," their last words for the time being as action takes hold of the scene, and magic starts to fly. A wrath of occult spreading out, and taking hold of the bridge -- while Ryohr's staff comes full-circle for Seneca's head.
(Ryohr)
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[22:26] As he descended upon Ryohr, there was a cold wrath that seemed to glisten behind those serpentine lilac's that adorned his features. A snarl barely hidden, jagged teeth glistening in the darkness.

The occultist control of the environment around them was put to the test as they unleashed a whirlpool of gravitation and occultic miasmas. However, even within these realms of influence the draconic warrior kept coming.

Those scale's of silver becoming tainted and cracking under the effects of Ryohr. Yet, they didn't slow even as the blood started to flow down there body. There own injuries adding into those inflicted upon them.

In the middle of the battle, the draconite pulled there arm back and then let loose with a dulled club. Shooting across the distance and stricking the Rhoynur square in the chest.

Creating a small low, breathing heavily the figure spoke. "I'm Seneca the Fifth, it's not right not to know who you fight. Taken from a raid with Sluthia and raise amid the Yitlz clan. Who're you?"
(Seneca)
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[22:33] The dulled club strikes clear in Ryohr's chest and sends them sliding back, no doubt sending fractures throughout their clavicle. They keep themselves standing and come to a slow stop. Eyes trained on their opponent.

"Ryohr, the vengeance of Rhoynur," they say, keeping to the mystique of their cloaked being. Their breathing had come rushed, harder as the battle progressed. And Seneca gained on the Rhoynish man. Those bone lances that shot out and managed to snag him almost every time. It leaves blood trailing down their mithril armor and tatters their black cloak.

The air comes tense once more, as Ryohr delves back into battle. Feeding into it, growing once in it. The thrill of the fight. The passion of anger that fuels them. The magical attacks keep hammering away at the dragon's scales, attempting to fell the beast-boy and send a harrowing, occultic burn across their draconic scales. "Show me what you fight for."
(Ryohr)
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[22:47] The Occultist came again with a fury that was hard to withstand. There combination of occult and gravity starting to sync up as they got into the raw rage of the battle. Feeding off of there negative emotions.

The first blast was all the worse, those occultic orbs striking the warrior bedecked in white. Burning there cloth and flesh as they brought there sword up. Striking away the most dangerous of the orbs.

Then came the gravitational well, it felt like the world was falling upon there shoulders. At the same time as the earth turned toxic beneath there feet. Like standing in a plague-lands.

Violet hues settled across the miasma of destruction towards Ryohr. "I. Fight. For." Through, clenched teeth they uttered the words, knees bending as there wings unfurled behind them. "YOU!"

The shout was a roar, as the draconic warriors flesh began to overheat. The force of there inner fire raging. The earth in tatters as they kicked off the ground. Charging towards Ryohr with great flaps of there wings.

Though, they didn't stop as the world turned to a hellish rebuke due to the man's occultism. Shrugging it off like a dragon. There charge checking the man in the gut.

Seneca picked him up with his shoulder, horns butting into his chest. Even as Ryohr resist the effeminate man carried him a dozen yards to crash into a tree.

The great oak buckled with the blow, falling to the side as the dragon peered down upon the vengeance of the Ryohr. Those eyes belying a reptilian fury, jagged teeth barely visible behind a thin smile.

A hand was offered towards the downed occultist.
(Seneca)
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[22:55] * You have been awarded 2 Roleplay Points! *
[23:01] The roar curves the air towards Ryohr, billowing their cloak. The corruption seeped into the ground below, turning the once lush forest into a turmoil of chaotic rage. The gravity cracked ground and sunk trees beneath their own weight, yet, all of the destruction in the world wouldn't enable Ryohr to beat this fiery, bone-wielding warrior. The battle wasn't all that long but it was arduous and with every strike the armed warrior bears upon him, Ryohr feels himself buckling and cracking at the seams.

The Rhoynur braces themselves as the charge crashes into their gut and they're hoisted up. Wind escapes their lips and horns sink into the mithril armor that guards their vitals. Another crash, when the masked being crashes into the nearby tree with the lariat-like finish. Wood splayed all over and the thud of a heavy body hitting the floor.

Ryohr lays in a heap of woodchips and oaken debris, their body still and covered in blood, riddled with bone lances from the match. The occult that burned off them, started to write and seethe, suppressed as they'd been downed. Yet again, a hand is offered. How many times would people show pity upon Ryohr? Want to help them? �

There's a long pause, a silence as their body lays. Then their eyes peel open, that golden-yellow iris revealed and a breath brings them to animated life. With a single clench of their fist, they bring it down once more, and gravity impacts the area beneath them. Sending the dirt into the air like an explosion, and providing the chance for Ryohr to leave.

No words are given, they'd be left for another time.
(Ryohr)
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[23:09] The hand came back up to shield his eyes as the earthen debris struck outwards. With a snarl that draconic hand swiped outwards. Knocking the debris away and clearing his sight.

Yet, this time Ryohr was gone.

Slits of violet searched the area. However, instead of finding Ryohr they spotted Seven. Someone they knew to be a citizen of Osrona.

Without a word the draconic figure sheathed there blade. Walking to them and gesturing back to the city. "Please return to the city it is safer within the walls. Occultists are running amuck in the hinterlands. Between them, then demons, and this virus Messaris and Sudbury aren't safe."

It was a crisp explanation of the events as they saw it. Though, in the end the dragon would simply look them over. "Apologies if I am being overbearing with my suggestion."
(Seneca)
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[23:11] "I'll be fine"

Her words were short, but she knew that the young soldier was only suggesting out of good will. It was dangerous to be here alone, especially with the demons that had been moving throughout the land and attacking citizens unprovoked.

"Are you injured?"

Doing battle left others with scars that told a story, but most of the time it left them weaker for the time being. She sensed around the area, making sure nothing else was around to try and take advantage of a post battle opponent trying to recover.
(S騅en)
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[23:16] Seneca's features seemed to calm down, by small degrees. Those slits of violet the first thing to soften, lips curling upwards into a pleasant smile. They gazed into the darkness for a moment, before bending down and picking up the torch they'd dropped.

'Are you injured?'

At the question they blinked, looking down at the bloody mess they'd become. They could already feel the cracked scale's starting to chip away to be replaced with new ones. Those lacerations afflicted by the Occultist seemed to be self-cauterizing as they spoke.

Heat radiated from the figure as that gaze returned back to Seven. "Yes, but with a bit of rest I'll be fine. Thank you for asking ma'am. Now, please save any more questions and allow me to at-least escort you back across the bridge."

As he spoke a wave was given towards the southern bridge. No doubt it had been his post when the occultist attacked.
(Seneca)
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