You'll have to do better than that

Bane bit his lip, as he saw the girl’s smile remain as she hid in her plant fortress, but there was no time to be unnerved by her confidence. It made Bane briefly wonder if she was friends with the captain. If he had been alone, he would have run, but it wasn’t an option with Sadar. The boy was eager for blood and would have reported Bane in an instant for the action and then – no more library – Godsdamn that Deas for picking the perfect carrot to bait Bane’s interest.

There was nothing for it now though, the first blow had been struck; now there was nothing left to do but finish it – one way or another. Well at least the trick had confirmed one of his suspicions – this girl was undoubtedly a plant magician.

Bane somewhat doubted Sadar would take much more orders (he already looked exhausted from his previous efforts) but he gave an order anyways, “Try and keep her in there.” Bane gathered his magic and became a blur. Thank the gods he had brought his prototypes today. It was a risk to use them, but they had tested well enough on his farm.

He lobbed one of the grenades at the encircling ring of trees the girl was hiding under and saw it burst and burn across the dry tree branches perfectly. He tried to not yelp with excitement at the success. Bane zipped around the structure and threw 2 more of the grenades within a millisecond of the first landing. The structure began to become a burning dome of fire.

@elf-of-the-earth

What an idiot, you are! He thought to himself when the Mancer showed her Magic, making most of his usage of extensive strength for naught. He tried not to sneer and look fierce as he continued to manipulate the ground, trying to root out the trees. Bane seemed not to move, as if he was trying to make something of the situation. Wasn’t it obvious? The woman was a Plant Magician and using her Magic to create a shelter for herself while she sapped from his efforts.

He looked up at Bane almost desperately. He didn’t want to listen to the command, something within him told him to ignore it, and continue one, severe the connection with the ground so he could regain strength, not continue losing it. But the Purple Magician disappeared in a blur of speed, and there was nothing left to say for Sadar.

A fire started at one of the trees, and considering it was Bane, Sadar stopped the connection. Pulling his mind back was easy, trying to stay standing after that not so much. He felt a bit dizzy, but as soon as he was able to see clearly, he was back on foot, closing the distance between himself and the dome structure to see what he could mean for them in close combat.

Impressed by her own knowledge of structure, she collected her strength while she sat safely within the half collapsed trees, growing root there where the Ground Magician sought to destroy the plant life. She noticed right away that she was stronger, her power over the ground they walked on was more present, and she could draw him back by growing root where he tried to split the ground, or fight back where he wanted to bring down the trees. She could now barely see them through the thick branches and covering leafs, however she could feel awareness through the plants. 

The second Knight had moved, moved faster than possible, faster than an elf: just as fast as a Purple Magician. A Color and an Elemental. She had the advantage. The Purple started to throw what looked like bombs at her fortress, harming the trees when fire erupted from the bombs. The burning smell hit her nostrils hard. She stopped collecting, and forced herself to a stand. The Ground Magician has pulled back: good. It was time to catch a hare. 

Sensing something was off, Sadar redirected his gaze away from Bane, he was thinking of making some offensive joke to making the situation more disrupted, but he was in battle, couldn’t have that right now. He just nodded. ‘Yeah, sure, sounds good,’ he added roughly. At the mention of not using ‘sir’ he smirked again, knowing very well that he would make use of the useless title once more, he would gladly. 

‘Like a lot of guessing and gissing at what those Cold North bastards are up to,’ Sadar replied, with slight annoyance. Scouting was initially easy, he could pick up vibrations in the ground to find if karts were moving around. It was the reporting back that bothered him. ‘Also, this field is as empty as my patience, they probably don’t have that much interest in opening up some route here,’ he mentioned. Sure, he could nag all he wanted, they would eventually end up scouting and reporting anyway. 

The catch on the blade gave him enough of a moment to stay low analyze the way back to the battle field. He was going to have to charge directly into the fray if he was going to avoid being picked off by this one Mancer. They hadn’t used any magic so he could safely assume they weren’t a magician because they would have crushed him in an instant. Blue magicians were not the strongest, they were purely support. And here he was fearing for his life holding only a dirk in defensive position, someone elses blood on his one hand. He could still feel how warm the blood was on his hand as if the knight was still alive. He had felt the man alive, and an echo of that life heated the blood. There was no rage in Belvus, only fear and a drive to live. A plan formulated.

Tossing his dirk as well as he could at the Mancer, he ran towards her and fell to the ground and began to slide on the blood on the ground, his light leather helped him to not merely collapse to the ground as he began to slide. In the split second decision of getting behind the Mancer so as to run for a few seconds without her, his prayers went to whatever vengeful god could take his place, because what he saw in the Mancer, every Mancer, was his sister. Or whatever his twin was because she was not a who to him any how. But right now he was sliding through the blood of a man he was trying to save with the same blood on his hands. His hand covered in blood skimmed the ground and as he began to slide near the mancer, and he prayed the dirk would have been enough distraction, but blood to blood and excitement seemed to complete a circuit in him, and time was both quick and strenuously slow as he awaited death or life in this split second in blood. 

The next few moments passed at lightning speed and took her reservations with them. The Knight’s look over her shoulder at the battlefield, the long dagger suddenly spinning toward her, the magician hitting the ground, sliding through blood. Loriente barely dodged the blade aimed at her chest, the edge just barely catching the crook of her neck and shoulder as she ducked to the side. The Mancer pressed her fingertips to her neck and they came away with bloodstained. She spun on her heel as the Knight scrambled across the slick ground and threw a few seeds at her feet. Fueled by her anger just as she was, the seeds split open in the mud and found a foothold in the earth below. Growing too quickly for the Knight to make his escape, one of the dark creepers lashed itself around his ankle and dragged him back.

Someone was screaming. Everyone was screaming, or shouting and bustling back and forth. Belvus could hear that much.  He gripped the dirk he kept at his side even closer as he ran to fallen Knight. The man was in full solid plate, dirtied by the ground and already stained with blood and scrubbed in with dirt as the poor man had been pushed to the ground and had most likely shuffled in the dirt to get away from whoever had injured him.  In larger conflicts, such as the one he was standing in, the hard iron scent of blood hung in the air as he scanned the field, continuing to run. The ground was slippery and he had to check his movement but he couldn’t stop. Not to breathe, not to look. Ceasing movement was paramount to throwing one’s self to hungry wolves. Keep moving, Belvus reminded himself as he got closer and closer to the injured party. The hard clanging of iron had grown tantamount to background noise to Belvus, he was accustomed to it, having heard his fair share. He was older than he looked.  Finally he slid right next hurt man.

“Are you alright? Where are you injured,” the regular diagnostic speak fell from his lips, if he let himself speak freely at this point in a battle, he would lose nerve, better to simply working on muscle memory and habit as a field magician.

“AAAAAAAHH” the knight continued to scream and groan in pain. Belvus was poised to look him over. The thud of another man falling rumbled a way off in the heavy brunt of the battle, but the noise was enough for Belvus to unsheathe and gaze over at the conflict. He was a good ways off from the battle, but he still had to hurry was, he would only be secure for a little more.

He was missing a leg.

Belvus paused to twitch and balked between moving to cover the leg and coming back to talk and comfort the man. His leather gear squeaked at the indecisive movement, Belvus began to be aware at how he was losing time merely looking the man over more than once. He set his hand over the wound, he couldn’t heal the leg back but he could at least heal the leg shut. Belvus gripped tight at the raw flesh, eliciting a sharp scream from the man, muffled slightly by the armor. Belvus pushed magic into the wound, willing the flesh to knit itself shut around his fingers and the arteries exposed in the wound. Belvus could still save hi-

SHCLICK

The wet heavy noise of a blade slicing through flesh and crunch through bone came abruptly crashing in. Belvus knelt frozen, his heart stopped and breath held, eyes opening wide in fear. His gaze began to move slowly up from the wound to see a sword impaled directly into the injured man- dead man’s face. Straight through the visor of the helmet. Belvus let go off the leg slowly, his other hand still gripped tight to his dirk. He looked up at the enemy poised over him. Belvus arched to move away. Mind racing with possibilities, he peered for any form of escape, of survival. He was not trained for hand to hand with a fully equipped enemy. If he fought, he would die. If he didn’t, he might die anyway.

With relief she came to a young Mancer’s aid before the girl could be gutted like an animal by a group of soldiers. With roiling fury she tracked the killer of a Cold North soldier out of the thick of battle and put him down. With sharp sadness she slid her scimitar into the visor of a dismembered Knight, tasting blood on her teeth. Whose, she did not know. She watched as the living Knight removed his fingers from his comrade's leg one by one. His digits were coated in the blood that covered the grass, covered the armor of both of them. Loriente’s eyes moved to his face and read the fear, dread, and disgust written in his eyes. She had a sudden picture in her mind of what Darqa’s face might look like if a Knight did such a thing before her eyes. It wouldn’t look like this, she told herself. There would be fury like the searing snap of a flame, and she would fly up and destroy the killer from the outside in with steel or from the inside out with her magic. It wouldn’t look like this. 

The unshakable Loriente Seasel was shaken by something she could not name.

Sadar hopped around on one leg, having gained a gigantic vertical slash on his right leg the first day of fighting. To his own luck, if any real sense of battle came close, he could use the ground as an extra support to keep himself from opening up the wound. He had done it before. 

He looked aside to where Bane was walking, he had no idea why he had suggested the bloke to team up the second day. Maybe for once he wanted company? Nah, couldn’t be that. He hated fighting along side people, it mostly went messy. Then again, Plant and Ground seemed like a good combination. 

As she moved through a skinny tree-lined valley over a short ridge on one side of the main battlefield, she felt a disturbance--grass that wasn’t already crushed under the shoes of the soldiers being trod on now. Nearby. Her footsteps slowed and quieted further, and she adjusted her sword sheath so the weapon could be quickly drawn as she moved behind the cover of a thick tree at the edge of the stand. Looking around it, she quickly identified a pair of men in conversation, men in Knight’s garb.

For Magical Enemies roleplay