Rebuilding the Past

[littlebean]

He was an odd guy, Barclay would give him that much. It was bizarre that the impact of the crash didn't move him an inch, and that he never faltered and stood fast and firm, solid as a wall. His lack of emotion or expression completed his wall like behaviour, cold and lifeless. Perhaps Barclay didn't crash into a human at all? There was no response to his apology and quite frankly Barclay didn't need one or care for one, especially if he was going to be sticking to his wall theory. He needn't apologize to a wall, he felt kind of silly.

Couldn't be a wall or a statue could it? It seemed pretty gosh darned human, who or whatever it was. He let idle thoughts fly in and out of his head as he continued his walk AWAY from the troublesome group he left behind.

"AAAHHHH!" Once he flew through the air and landed hard on the sand, he knew that instead of leaving trouble, he made a mad dash right for it, either that or it somehow followed him without his knowing. Human, the wall had to be human or something much greater to have thrown him down with that much force. A single shove, using one hand by a man half his size? What greater strengths did he possess?

Barclay swallowed hard. He wouldn't go around demanding the person to get out of his way or throw any attitude around because the stranger had made it clear that he was no match for him. He was getting kind of nervous, and didn't know what to say. Maybe he should just take another route?

Dusting the sand off his pants, without saying a word instead of travelling forwards, he went in a more sideways direction, hoping the man would leave him alone.

[Vylrath]

Good. The spell was wearing off. He could see, and by God, what he saw startled his senses completely! It was an Orc- something he had never witnessed before. Vylrath was old, but he had usually run into his own kind. This creature was completely exotic in his view.

The damned thing looked like a giant next to Vylrath, who only stood at 5’5…if it even noticed who he was. He knew his son would be on his own. He watched the reaction of Trydian and wondered how he would go against an Orc. They looked stupid, slow and full of arrogance. He noticed how slow and sluggish the thing was with its axe and wondered if he could use its momentum against itself. It would be tricky, but maybe Trydian’s reaction could work to his advantage.

In his mind, he only wanted to protect his family. Zaero was part of a family that existed somewhere else. He didn’t consider him his son – he was no longer a worry. The damned Orc would have to be dealt with, but right now he needed to get Sebilla to safety.

It would be stupid for him to yell out his commands, so he flashed everyone a verbal warning in their mind:

Vuri who are able to fight…stay with me! Caela, get Sebilla out of here! Summon Kahlan if you have to! Tell her about the Orc!

Isabella, if she chose to stay and fight, would have more control over her powers. She would not be so easy to defeat.
He relied on Kahlan, but he was still getting used to his new form. She would understand- she was the only one who understood. It would have to work for now. Sebilla was the only human here and he knew that she would be a bigger prize than his old hide.

[Iskander]

Trydian knew what orcs were. He'd heard of them, and he'd been warned about them along with the other dangerous races he might encounter in the world. Zaero, or the orc, might have hoped he'd be surprised and unsure what to do when the hulking suit of armour appeared on the field, but Trydian knew exactly what the proper behavior was.

He turned and ran, before Vrar-a even hefted her axe for an attack. Trydian had no intentions of facing a heavily armoured orc with nothing but his hands. He needed time to create a Seal, time that he wouldn't have if he remained anywhere near the enemy. So he ran, scrambling across the sand toward Vylrath. If his father died, oh well, it didn't harm him any. Otherwise Vylrath would prove to be a useful meat shield.

He sang as he ran, and ropes of light twisted away from the lake and gathered some twenty feet above the beach. The light became one writhing mass above the Vuri and the intruders, illuminating the beach in a brilliant and flickering twilight.

Trydian raced past Vylrath and shouted into his father's mind Keep the bitch off me for a while! He skidded to a stop somewhere behind Vylrath, almost losing his balance in the sand, before he spun and lifted a hand to point at Vrar-a. He continued to sing, and gestured at the orc as though he were casting a spell.

[Nayt]

As Barclay passed the man again, he would be treated to another dose of pain. This time, it was bound to be much more . . . long lasting, in its own right.

The man had jumped. It was sudden, and given Barclay's experience in battle, not quite leaving the man time enough to react accordingly. In the end, however, he'd experience a blow to his chest, coming directly from a kick planted into it with the worst possible intent. If struck, he'd be tossed back again, except this time it wouldn't be a simple matter of a broken belonging or two, a bit of embarrassment at having been pushed back into the sand, and the need to evade a bully. No, Barclay wasn't going to experience that again. He was going to experience a near breaking of numerous ribs and the realization that this was not, in fact, a mere bully that could be evaded as easily as a side-ways approach, but a cloaked man that was going to severely hurt him if he tried that ever again.

"You will not pass," he uttered at last, landing upon the sand with one foot, and setting the other down just a moment later.

Barclay didn't have a choice in the matter. Any further attempts to pass this man were going to be yet another exercise in futility.

_________________

What occurred then, between Trydian and Vrar-a, was seemingly put out of Zaero's mind. He shut his eyes and took in a deep breath through his nose. He could smell everything. The Barclay and Tanaka, Vrar and Trydian, Vylrath and the women. In the end, only two of them smelled remotely appetizing anymore, and one of them wasn't ripe enough to be considered worthwhile sustenance. Zaero shoved his hands into his pockets once again, though the action didn't seem slowed and hindered like it had before.

"I don't really care how much of a mess you make of him, either," Zaero muttered under his breath, words intended for Vrar-a.

Were Vylrath to attempt to assist his son, he'd find himself stopped short, as Zaero had begun to walk again. Whether or not Vylrath moved to assist Trydian mattered very little, however. Zaero would start walking either way.

At first, it was slow, one foot in front of the other, but he quickly took a methodical pace, walking slowly towards Vylrath, but with a defined and steady pace--and intentionally so. Vylrath wasn't going to get past him; there would be no sense trying, especially as Zaero had already mentioned so many times that he had come here strictly for Vylrath Xanathi. What he intended to do with him still remained pure conjecture; the women had come to conclusions and so had Vylrath, but they were all more than likely incorrect. Had Zaero wanted to eat Vylrath, he would have made his move much sooner, and besides, he had already mentioned earlier that Vylrath did not smell appetizing to him.

Though, for all intents and purposes, he should not have been walking at all--especially so loosely. Not only was he presumably cursed, but he had a lance of darkness embedded within his chest. No longer did either seem to demand him to pause, though. It was as if nothing had happened to Zaero at all . . .

"Yo," Zaero declared outright, once he was within six feet of Vylrath, "Just you and I now, right?"

[littlebean]

Barclay was not an adept fighter, being only a simple cremator all of his life, his skills didn't go much farther past cremating. Needless to say, just as planned Barclay recieved his dosage of pain full force, and it was a very hefty dose. He recieved his medicine once upon impact from the kick, and once again when he landed hard on the ground, the sand being of little help. By now the tiny man's message had been very clear, Barclay wasn't going anywhere. But he had no idea why.

"wh-wh-..aaah!" After the hit he hardly had the breath to ask the man why, among the other questions he wanted to ask. What had he done to deserve this, what did he want? Barclay didn't have anything to give, the remainder of his belongings had been destroyed and he hadn't had any money. Maybe he wouldn't ask him anything. If that bastard hadn't kicked him in the chest, if he had any breath in him his attacker would be covered in flames.

Instead, there was going to be no attacking. Carefull Barclay took small shallow breaths in an attempt to avoid the pain of breathing, slowly struggling to bring himself to a standing position. Once standing he attempting to speak in a hushed voice between near sobs of pain.

"Wh-whaaat doyou...waaannt?" If this was a robbery, the man would be sad to find out that he didn't have much to take, although by now Barclay would gladly give him anything he asked for.

[Paroxysm]

The Orc smiled as her opponent took flight, casting whatever incantation, or spell that he thought would save him from the situation at hand. In truth, the Orc did not care what her opponent was trying to do, but she was particularly surprised by his choice get-away. Running in the desert was not an enjoyable experience and it was very likely that the man was going to physically tire himself and casting a spell had to at least take some concentration.

The Orc finally rested her axe upon her shoulder again, taking a few steps before choosing to do away with her armor, removing the metal boots from her body, and then working on the armor that covered her legs and thighs. Ultimately, this was an easy process; the armor she wore was decorated, but was also scraps of metal taken from the corpses of fallen enemies. Like paper, the armor yielded to the Orc’s indeterminable strength, and she would continue walking while doing this--stopping only when all that was left to be removed was her breast plate, which opened at the side, rather than having to be pulled over her eyes.

It would be at this point that Trydian had taken refuge somewhere behind Vylrath, still preparing his spell or song or whatever. Still, the Orc did not seem overly concerned, moving her axe just enough to allow her to slip from the armor, holding the heavy breastplate in her opposite hand.

With the majority of her armor no longer being equipped, the Orc was now much lighter and faster, along with her already potent strength. Yet, she did not bother acting the part of a brute, instead she looked away from her opponent for a split second, her eyes sharpening and focusing on the women and what seemed to be a young girl. This glance, as it were, was short, but the weight of it was without a doubt noticeable. She was not disregarding her opponent, far from it, in fact; she was entirely ready to counter attack or defend herself from his spell. Indeed, the glance served one purpose and one purpose only: it was a threat. It was her way of saying that if her opponent continued his cowardice, she would have no choice but to find something new to play with, but that did not mean she would enjoy that role. Far from it, the Orc had already proven to be far more honorable than anybody else in the area.

Continuing her stride brought her walking directly pass Vylrath, an arm’s length away, really, and in that moment time could have slowed down for the man, he could have felt the immeasurable presence from the Orc, the fighting spirit of a warrior who had seen countless battles, who had slain countless enemies, or he could have been ignorant of it. It didn’t matter, her fight was not yet with him, and it may not even have to be. Zaero, the man who had summoned the Orcish warrior, was here for a reason, it just so happened that nobody really had the time to find out what that reason was, and so the situation sort of escalated form there.

“Oi,” a deep and unnatural voice called out, more snarl than spoken word. “Just how long does the man-thing think it has?”

The snarl-like voice came off annoyed, but there was a tinge of nobility behind it. For now, it seemed that she could actually be reasoned with, this would probably go fruitless, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be tried. Still, so long as she was not forced into a berserker’s rage, everything was normal, and not painted red, after all; she was still an Orc.

The Orc did not stop as she spoke and she did not release her weapon or her breastplate from either of her hand’s grip. Likewise, she did not run, she did not break stride, she simply walked, very much like Zaero, but the difference was--she was not going to be tired by the sand, the work-out she got from walking was minimal, even with her strength she would have tired from having to run in such conditions, and ultimately this was to her advantage--she would be able to react at a moment’s notice, rather than be slowed down by fatigue.

In all honesty, it was in Trydian’s luck that the Orc was not willing to throw her weapon; it was the second function of axes, after all. They were melee weapons first, but after that--it was entirely logical to use it as a projectile, thrown with enough strength, it would have been almost unavoidable attack. But, where was the fun in that? She almost felt bad enough simply not having a secondary weapon to loan the man, for their fight.

[Vylrath]

“You attack my family and you want to talk?” He scoffed bluntly. This kid had guts and the attitude immediately reminded him of Isabella. “Call your friend off my son and we’ll talk.” Vylrath waved his hand at a second thought. “Attacking a weaponless man, just makes me think that you’re a coward yourself.” He could be a coward at times and that’s when he smirked at his next words. “Maybe you are my son." He stood up and brushed the sand off of his clothes. He was thoroughly annoyed, not that anyone would care. He grumbled and stretched and half-wondered if Zaero would attack him now. He hadn’t shared friendly words, but he had told him the truth. That was enough for him for one day.

“We will talk when you have met me half way. I don’t know what I’ve done to you in the future, to have you seek me out, but all I can do is my best.” He explained half-heartedly. He was not the best father figure, but he was slowly learning with Trydian. He would be damned if he lost him to Zaero’s arrogance.

He watched the cowardice figure of Barclay shake and shiver. He had been attempting to flee ever since Zaero had shown up. "Your friend can have him. I don't care about that man. I've never met him before in my life." If Zaero knew his father well enough, he would know that he often lied and enjoyed doing it on a regular basis.

[Iskander]

Trydian watched the orc as she moved through the sand. He knew that running would tire him out, and he knew it would decrease his chances of winning against the beast, even when she removed her armour. He had no intention of fighting her, though. Fighting her achieved nothing for him. Even her threatening look toward his mother, Isabella, and Sebilla didn't motivate him to engage her without a weapon. He just needed to wait a few more moments.

The Seal continued to writhe in the air above them, casting light down across the beach. It grew more complete with each moment, and the orc was providing plenty of those moments. Trydian couldn't stop his song to speak to her, or to his father, or to Zaero, so he just sidled around Vylrath, keeping the man between himself and Vrar-a.

[Nayt]

At Vrar-a, Zaero shrugged his shoulders. "I give him a minute, tops."

________

Tanaka stared at the man, Barclay, as he momentarily writhed in pain. Indeed, despite Tanaka's small stature, he was a monstrously strong man--which may have been odd, considering the fact that his muscle structure didn't look nearly as bulbous as the previous shows of aggression might have suggested. No, by the way the cloth whipped about him in a brief, yet powerful gust, Tanaka's muscle structure appeared to be perfectly scrawny. He was small and meek, but appeared to pack a very powerful punch.

"For you to stay there," Tanaka replied, his voice cold and disinterest, albeit somewhat small, "And be quiet. If this is problematic for you, I can forcibly make you stay."

The man did not act this time, instead standing straight up with his arms at his sides. If Barclay chose to run again, he'd have to act to harm him again--and hopefully get it through his head that there was no escape.

________

At Vylrath's comments, calling him a coward and other such indications, even demanding compliance from him, Zaero was visibly amused. Zaero hadn't once said anything about talking, nor anything about wanting to eat Vylrath before. This whole group seemed to enjoy their assumptions. That was fine, though. Zaero enjoyed their assumptions, too! Were it not an exercise in frivolity, he'd have mocked them by drawing his own absurd assumptions--but truth be told, the only way to mock them, perhaps, was to act just like them.

And that was never the enjoyable way to mock someone.

"Well then . . ." Zaero remarked under his breath as he set his hand upon the spear of darkness still lodged within his chest.

Just as he did, Vylrath would feel a new sensation added to the experience: pain. When he'd been attacked, it was unlikely that he'd be able to tell; all Vylrath might be able to be sure of was that, for a brief moment, there'd be a foot in his mouth that was not his own.

The strength behind the blow was formidable, and would without a doubt launch Vylrath back--and at a convenient time, for that matter. It was approximately the time that Trydian had passed behind Vylrath; by trajectory alone, the bastard son of Vylrath Xanathi would be knocked off balance by a brushing of his father, "incidentally" to leave him open for a horribly painful attack on the part of Vrar-a.

". . . it's a good thing I didn't plan on saying much, isn't it?" Zaero finished his statement as he brought his foot back down.

And by that point, the spear within his chest had ceased to be . . .

[Paroxysm]

Unfortunately for Trydian, keeping Vylrath between himself and the Orc was now an impossibility, the Orc had already passed the man, and so when Tyridan moved, he’d find his movements mirrored in an almost predatory manner, at least; with the exception of one major detail--the Orc would never be directly in front of Trydian and neither would she ever be directly behind Vylrath--call it a hunch, but it seemed as though it would have been a particularly bad idea. Regardless, the Orc had never once stopped her advance, even as Trydian tried to navigate behind Vylrath, she merely adjusted her path to compensate for the man’s movements.

Indeed, the Orc looked as though she could charge and attack at any minute, but she didn’t, not yet. Her axe was still in her hand, its aura, assumed to be that of corrupting, noxious fel magic, seemed to lick at the air. It was almost as though the thing was feeding off of the anxiety and tensions in the area. But, then … Perhaps that was just one’s imagination going wild, or perhaps it wasn’t. Only time would tell.

While the Orc was in no way facing Zaero or Vylrath, she was able to grasp a sense of movement out of the corner of her eyes, she didn’t know what was really occurring, but she knew the majority of what was happening was caused by Zaero, whether he was simply walking still, or attacking--well that was irrelevant. Taking whatever was happening between Zaero and Vylrath as her que, as a sign and signal, she would begin to build speed, there was no need to worry about tiring now, not when she was this close to her opponent, and especially because she had already been moving, it would take very little effort to move from walk, to jog, and finally into a full-on sprint, regardless; she would run towards Trydian, her deceptively swift speed would be a surprise to some, but perhaps an expected attribute to others. Indeed, her movement would be almost a blur, she was running fast and strong, but not too fast. She could go faster yet, but she didn’t. There was a flow in the battle, she could feel it, a sense of direction, and purpose--and she would do little to disrupt it. Instead, her pace would be just below Vylrath’s flight, keeping her at a reasonable distance in case he and his son did collide, but this was in assumption that Zaero did succeed in whatever he had plan.

Still, despite her sprint, she did not release her grip on her breastplate, or her axe and neither did she attack or do anything other than run. Just as Tyridan was preparing for something, so, too, was the Orc preparing a treat of her own.

The man could form whatever incantation or spell he thought would stop her, incapacitate her, or challenge her might. She would either shatter it, or shatter him. Even still, there was the movement that she could feel off to her side, Zaero’s movement, and obviously this meant the fight was now finally picking up in pace.

[Vylrath]

He had managed to bring up his fist to block some of the kick, but it managed to bruise the side of his face. The energy that had been sleeping in his hands had awakened with a brute force- but he no longer had it in him. He was tired of fighting. He was tired of rebuilding and he was just…tired. The pain in his chest wouldn’t phase him…he was old, wary, and used to such. To someone as old and ancient as him, it would come off as mere heartburn.

The Orc was no longer a concern, nor was Isabella. Now he lay on the ground, a beaten and ancient warrior. The sky churned with his inner turmoil. Keep fighting these phantoms, or admit defeat? He approved the latter.

Even though he was just getting used to the idea of his family life, he knew that purgatory had been kinder to him. He had been alone with his thoughts. The two foes wouldn’t know that he would donate all of his energy to his son, Trydian. Trydian would be the true prince of the Vuri and the protector of his family. He would feel his father’s last breath leave his body.

This world was not for him. This world had already been fucked up to begin with- what more could he of done to it? He looked toward Isabella once more, his emotions filling her own. He had loved her, truly but since they had departed, he had lost touch with what they had once had.

He kneeled down, knowing the position in which he needed to be in. “Take my existence, because I no longer believe in my own.” He said, looking toward Zaero without much emotion attached. “I will welcome death as my punishment, knowing that I gave a creature like you life.” He paused, thoughtful.

“You are not the son of Isabella. Scum doesn’t come from something so beautiful.”

[littlebean]

Barclay was pissed, but because he had to stay but that the request was so fucking simple that he could have simply asked instead of resorting to violence to get the point across. The pain was still there, still sharp, but lessening so that now it was easier for him to speak. All in all, with everything going on he'd like to get out of there as fast as he could, but staying in one place was a small price to pay for not getting his ass kicked. He had a feeling though, that the reason they wanted him to stick around was for a heavier beating.

Now that he gathered himself he could stand up perfectly straight, he was just wincing a bit. The pain was still there. "Augh fine I'll stay just...geeze man." He didn't feel it was a good idea to correct him on his manners when he could likely punch a hole through his face in a very literal way.

So he stood there, nervous, waiting to see what would happen to him.

[Iskander]

Trydian's song changed when Zaero kicked Vylrath. His father would find no padding from his son, who vanished in a gust of displaced air. A section of the Seal in the air crumbled with the activation of the spell. Trydian emerged from the teleport beside Sebilla, with a similar gust of displaced air. He took her hand and the rest of the Seal crumbled into nothing as they both vanished.

[OOC] I'm out. Peace.

[Nayt]

Tanaka said nothing. Once again, he folded his arms over and became silent. For the two of them, it was a matter of waiting, and he would obviously wait however long necessary.

______

Whether or not he was effected by the seals anymore, one might never know. He didn't move or act any differently following the removal of the seals, and Trydian's person entirely.

It seemed there was a vast number of cowards running this brand new rendition of Xexoria. If they didn't bend to a superior being's will instantly, then a little bit of running was more than enough to convince them to leave! Zaero thought about this and regarded it with a sigh. It was kind of annoying, really. When you come to a foreign country to start a fight, you expect a fight, and yet here, barely any fists had to be thrown. Vylrath was kneeling before Zaero and Trydian had fled with his younger sister.

Vylrath's submission wasn't at all an interest of Zaero's. Sure, it was nice. But he regarded Vylrath with a scoff, still.

"No. You're right. I didn't come from her," Zaero replied with a smile, "No womb ever festered with your seed to create me. Technically, I came from Terine and Eline Seydra."

Just mentioning this seemed to irritate Zaero. The muscle under his lower left eye twitched, as did many of his fingers. Talking about that visibly bothered him, almost to the point of making his stomach wretch. If his skin could turn whiter, it would have.

"Actually-- no. That's where he came from," Zaero corrected himself, a hint of disappointment upon his face, "And I'm not him. So--so yes. Yes, hell with it! Let's say that you spread your godawful seed! Let's say that you conceived a monster with another woman!"

Zaero brightened up noticeably. He was even able to smile again, even though no one would really notice if he were frowning beforehand. His Glasgow smile, after all, made it physically impossible for him to frown. But Zaero could feel the effects of a smile or a frown, regardless.

"Because in the most important of ways, you did," Zaero continued quietly as he leaned over Vylrath, peering down at him with small yellow irises, small, yet filled with an unequaled hate. He may have brightened up, but that didn't put an end to any loathing he had of Vylrath Xanathi. "Except that woman was a land. An island."

And then, at last, he threw another kick at Vylrath's face. Again, he intended to blast his foot into the front of Vylrath's jaw, and possibly break out his front teeth. In this position, Vylrath hadn't much of an opportunity to evade or block it; the man was on his knees before Zaero, with his face just inches from Zaero's leg. The kick was accompanied by another declaration, however, one that he didn't shout or proclaim with any vigor, but growled menacingly--a declaration that may bring back a plethora of memories . . .

"Persistencia!"

[Vylrath]

He was tired. His body were old and his mind was worn. Persistencia had meant something to him in his old form. He had killed a man on that island, but that memory hadn’t been brought to life until now. He stared at Zaero, momentarily, before realizing his meaning: Baelron. That man had been the cause for his new creation- the Vuri. Should he be angry?

No.

Vylrath had been a different man. He had no purpose for dwelling on that past.

If this thing had come for revenge, he wouldn’t find a fight in Vylrath. He had lost himself in this transition. He was slowly growing mad with loss. The thought of Baelron’s death forced him to recall his former demonic spirit. He knew where it was resting and who held it: Kahlan. Vylrath wondered how this unprepared world would react to the release of a pure demonic soul.

To Zaero, he would appear shocked, maybe thinking things over. His perplexed expression might etch fear and contemplation of his own fate, but he was really contacting another being- Kahlan. She would know where his location was. He wouldn’t have to relay anything to her. She had the power that he craved and maybe that was why they had been attracted to one another. He was thankful that he could call on her when it was needed and that she was the one guarding his true soul.

Release my soul, Kahlan…those who desire power, or possess greed, darkness in their soul, will be drawn to such a thing. It will turn them into an unstoppable force. These fools have doubted me, but I wonder how they will really survive this…

His soul could be consumed, embedded, however the user intended to capture it. Vylrath would let this world visit Hell one more time. He understood that the soul would not inhabit his body- he also knew that it would want nothing of him. He did not desire such a thing anymore. The people of this world had broken him. But he wondered who would break first when they met his soul.

Vylrath had one last thing to say to the parts of Baelron: “You are a fool…” This new power would be unlike anything the Vuri would have experienced. In contrast, he would be meeting a part of him that had withered away. He wondered if he would recognize his old self, or if it would recognize him in return.

He waited for the skies to churn and for the landscape to break apart. If Kahlan agreed, he knew that he had just wished for their death. He stood up, his expression hiding the knowledge only meant for him. “Finish me off, but I will get the chance to see your end in the afterlife.”