Tenith'oru vs Agith'tai

[ Aan'lier comes to make an attempt to take Blu, the Cyrenian Guadian]

Aan'lier's head has been chomped off by Patroklos's jack-in-the-box.

A shriek of childish panic echoes over Cyrene, the terrified tones resounding of
the looming mountains to create a cacophony of frenzied echoes.

[Agith'tai then makes an attempt]

A satisfied lullabye lilts over the world.

Relief fills you as the somnolent tones of the Litany directed have no effect
upon yourself. In spite of her thrall state, a child's whimper, an extraordinary
act of defiance, can be heard.

[ Roughly a hundred people die to Litany]

With Agith'tai's repellent act accomplished, the strange song ceases.

[Tenith'oru paces within the lab of Cyrene]

Tenith'oru paces impatiently back and forth.

Tenith'oru says, ".... offering protection."

Tenith'oru spits on the ground in disgust.

Tenith'oru creases his brow in a frown.

Kosuira's scream resounds again, this time as much psychic as sound as the
girl's helpless form is forced beyond a ruby barrier.

[ It's discovered that Kosuira has been taken away by Agith'tai, to a place beyond an impenetrable barrier.]

The violence of the mental strain shatters the child sorceress' psyche, the
power unleashed submitting all to partake in her torture, ensuring all bear
witness through her tortured eyes.

Tenith'oru barely chokes back a gasp, attempting to conceal any emotion.

Tenith'oru gives a pained sigh.

[Tenith'oru leaves Cyrene, making his way to the lower levels of Azdun]

A carnivorous lycopod has plunged the finely shredded remains of Felicia into
its acidic secretions. [Bye Felicia]

A scream of anguish reverberates up through the earth from the lower levels of
Azdun dungeon.

[Great skittering noise of spiders is heard in the lower Azdun levels as the fog is pushed back]

A scream of anguish reverberates up through the earth from the lower levels of
Azdun dungeon. [Second one]

Unphased by the ruddy barrier, Tenith'oru steps into the chamber, a scythe of
darkness manifesting in his hand between one step and the next.

The Blue Fang seems entirely unconcerned, studying the broken form of Kosuira,
not sparing his elder even the briefest glance.

Letting loose a snarl, Tenith'oru closes with Agith'tai, swinging his scythe two-
handed at the Tsol'teth's unguarded head.

Agith'tai casually steps aside into a shadow, rematerialising behind Tenith'oru
and sending him sprawling with a savage blow from the haft of his weapon.

Grey light flares around Tenith'oru, and he is suddenly on his feet again, blade
coming down in a devastating overhand blow from Agith'tai's blindspot.

Contorting his body in an unnatural display of flexibility, Agith'tai allows the
strike to pass scant inches in front of him, the power-wrought blade striking a
shower of sparks from the stone floor of the chamber.

The two exchange a flurry of strikes, but Agith'tai is clearly the superior
warrior; his form flawless while Tenith'oru slows moment by moment.

Agith'tai is a blur of motion, scythe striking beyond the ability of any mortal
fighter to perceive. There seems almost to be multiple versions of him as he
attacks his adversary from every angle.

As Tenith'oru stumbles back under the relentless assault, Agith'tai lashes out
with his free hand, ebon claws of shadow raking twin furrows down the face of
the elderly Tsol'teth. The wounds steam, black smoke rising from the incisions.

The harsh whisper of Agith'tai provokes instinctive terror as it glides across
the realm, "Divine Death did die by my design. You, a nameless castoff, thought
yourself my better? You thought to come here and pit yourself against a true
scion of Agith'maal?"

Slowly, almost wonderingly, Tenith'oru lifts a pale fingered hand to touch the
blood streaming down his face. A manic gleam enters his eyes, and he steps clear
of his would-be executioner.

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "Your
better?"

Tenith'oru contemptuously tosses his scythe to the ground at Agith'tai's feet.

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "You are
insignificant."

The aged Tsol'teth lets his cloak fall to the ground, revealing him in all his
frailty. Near-skeletal thin, bones protrude, casting stark shadows across his
near-translucent skin.

Even as the dark cloth flutters to the ground, Tenith'oru reaches his hand to
the side, an oppressive weight descending upon Achaea.

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "You have
taken from me, aberration. Taken what is mine. You are but a mewling sibling
disported in castoffs."

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "I have
burned the world for less."

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "I claim my
birthright. Come to me, my curse. I command it."

A golden glow begins to shine within Tenith'oru's empty hand, his face twisting
into a rictus of fury even as he becomes suffused with youth.

Agith'tai seems suddenly alarmed, he lunges forward, weapon poised to open
Tenith'oru's throat.

In a quiet voice that carries across the globe, Tenith'oru speaks, "Obey!"

A hush falls over Achaea as the golden glow coalesces, a long staff of wood
forming in Tenith'oru's grasp. With reflexes far surpassing what he had achieved
previously, the Tsol'teth parries aside Agith'tai's thrust, driving the Blue
Fang away with an almost negligent flick of the Staff of Nicator.

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "I conquered death before your forefathers had even
conceived the notion was possible."

Even as Seleucar's Doom spoke, the staff in his grasp changed beneath his hands;
its length twisted and bent, writhing in its summoner's iron grip, striations of
darkness replaced gilded grain, the mottled patches of Tsol'teth power growing
and roiling, even the diamonds at its head exploded, one after another, like
firecrackers.

The wielded power blasts away the robes from the ancient Tsol'teth revealing the
features not seen for centuries. His skin is pure grey, like clouds on a sunless
day, his armour is blackened iron, carved in demonic patterns, and his cold red
eyes burn with hatred.

The harsh whisper of Agith'tai provokes instinctive terror as it glides across
the realm, "... Morain-doma."

The half rajamala lowers his weapon, a mad laughter bubbling up from within his
throat.

The harsh whisper of Agith'tai provokes instinctive terror as it glides across
the realm, "It is true! Perfection is within reach!"

Parni deSangre raises the Staff of Nicator, levelling it at the exultant
Tsol'teth.

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "End."

Without fanfare, Agith'tai disintegrates under the staff's unleashed power, the
only remnant of him the echoes of his laughter that slowly fade from the
underhalls of Azdun.

Having done the unthinkable, Parni deSangre has annihilated Agith'tai from
existence, both body and soul alike.

The spread of the Tide falters, the flow ebbing to a halt.

As the final echoes of Agith'tai's laughter fade, Parni hurries to the broken
form of Kosuira. A mere twitch of the Staff of Nicator turn her shackles to dust,
and he scoops her into his arms.

Glancing around Agith'tai's tomb for a final time, Parni makes a cutting motion
with the symbol of his office, the tip of the staff tracing a doorway in mid air
that looks out upon the Sangre Plains.

Parni and Kosuira pass through the portal, the gateway sealing behind them
without visible input from its creator.

[A handful of people perish at a mere glance from Parni deSangre.]

<I did not arrive in time to catch his first words. If you have them, please message me.>

Parni deSangre says, "Is it now too late?"

Parni deSangre says, "But you were my light among a world of shadows. I would
burn Seleucar twice over to spare you this end."



The Child Sorceress Kosuira has succumbed to her wounds upon the deSangre Plains.

Parni pauses, staring down at the corpse in his arms. Slowly, the ancient man
turns his face to the skies.

Parni deSangre says, "I believed losing my right to die was the worst the Logos
could curse me with."

Parni deSangre says, "I was wrong."

You see Parni deSangre shout, "I refuse to be robbed again!"

The last spawn of Nicator raises the staff above his head, madness clearly
written upon his face.

You see Parni deSangre shout, "Take them, so that she may live! A feast for
Death!"

The Staff blazes incandescent in his grasp, a twisting streak of liquid light
that bathes the deSangre Plains in a judgmental glow.

You feel your life draining from you, age encroaching at a terrifying rate. Your
muscles grow weak and your thoughts clouded even as Kosuira draws breath once
more.

[ People start getting younger as their life is drained by Parni's spell.]

A ragged scream of loss tears from Parni's time-ravaged throat as he casts
caution aside and throws open his own mind.

A jolt of power wracks your body as you are thrown into a torrent of memory and
sensation. All is clouded with an agonising grief and an utter grey of
loneliness, lit only by a gleaming strand of ice blue hope.

Inept at the meld you bear mute witness as the telltale threads of Kosuira and
Parni deSangre finally share. Without pride or shame you witness all, the fall
of Seleucar, a child's relief at being rescued in the snow, lives shared in
lessons, in cold caves.

Kosuira's tiny hand shifts, pale knuckles whitening as she briefly squeezes
Parni's slender fingers.

As the stolen life is expended, Kosuira once again slips into death, leaving the
mad Emperor without a kingdom to grieve alone upon his namesake's plains.



You feel your life draining from you, age encroaching at a terrifying rate. Your
muscles grow weak and your thoughts clouded even as Kosuira draws breath once
more.

The Child Sorceress Kosuira has slipped into death eternal.

Leaning heavily on the Staff of Nicator, Parni stands and stares down at the
corpse of his apprentice.

Parni deSangre says, "They have played us well indeed."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Hear me, Tsol'teth!"

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "No-one ever accused Parni deSangre of not understanding
spite."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "You struck at me for daring to teach mine the arts that I
have more right to than your bastard amalgamations."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "You left me to live in the light, scorned by and absent of
the melds you share."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "And yet I am your blueprint?"

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "I think not."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "I shall unwind all you have accomplished. I will share
your secrets. You too will feel the glaring light of loss."

As the grieving wielder raises the Staff of Nicator, you feel a great pressure
weighing down upon your mind. For a single, terrible instant, Parni deSangre
holds the entirety of Achaea in a meld, their minds linked to his in a steely
vice.

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "I gift you knowledge, Achaea. Do with it what you will."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Take command of the shadows. The forbidden arts of bending
time to one's will. The lost art of Terminus."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "The arts of the Depthswalker, as passed down by the
Overlords three."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Maybe one of you will survive."


Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "As for you, my abhorrent kin..."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Enjoy these, your final days of mortality."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "I shall tear down all that you have built."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "From your greatest warriors to the lowliest child."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "As before, so it will be again, naught but rubble will
remain."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Achaea, your ignorance will not frustrate my vengeance."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "These Tsol'teth are driven not by rage or madness."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "Clear purpose and calculated risk incite their every move.
"

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "The Blue Fang spoke of the Endbringer's doom through his
determined plots."

Like steel on stone, the preternatural tones of Parni deSangre thunder
throughout Creation, "The Blue Fang spoke of the Endbringer's doom through his
determined plots."

You look on in astonishment as the corpse of Kosuira, the child sorceress fades
away into the ether.

With a sweeping gesture of his Staff, Parni deSangre creates a mausoleum of ice
to entomb the frail remains of his protege.

Parni deSangre says, "I have no more stomach for this parade. I shall go home,
and then, into the dark."

With a weary sigh, Parni deSangre releases the Staff of Nicator, allowing it to fall to the ground.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Parni deSangre speaks a terrible word of
power and fades from existence.