Rebuilding the Past

[Iskander]

Trydian hit the ground, hard, and pain washed over him. The pain didn't last long, none of it did, for the shock of Vylrath's magic flooded his system. His nature was being overwhelmed by his father's, and Trydian retreated inward during this struggle. Vylrath's words, Zaero's, Isabella's, Caela's, Kahlan's, all were lost on him. His eyes had glazed over and, if not for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, they could have spoken to a corpse with the same results. They fell on deaf ears. Even Isabella's physical abuse, and Caela's magic, did not register in the young Demon.

Trydian found himself standing amid a burning Rivenfelde. Explosions rocked the buildings around him, and the shouts of dying men and Yuurei filled the air. Xexorian soldiers fled all around him, fleeing some foe he could not yet see. Trydian found himself unarmed, and was shocked that the Chaos Sword no longer sang to him. He stared about wildly and found a discarded axe; it was a weapon with a long haft, almost as long as Trydian was tall, and clearly intended to hack through armour. Trydian knelt and lifted the weapon, finding that it was somehow the perfect weight and balance for him.

It was as he rose that the enemy came into sight. Rage boiled up in Trydian's veins and he pointed an accusing finger at Vylrath, "You! You fucking bastard!" There was something off about Vylrath, but Trydian couldn't figure it out. His father didn't answer him, but instead hefted the Chaos Sword into view. Trydian's eyes widened and he muttered to himself, "Oh... Shit." He turned and ran the way the Xexorian soldiers had. He heard footsteps behind and knew that Vylrath pursued him.

As though in a dream, Trydian sprinted around a corner after the Xexorian soldiers, only to find himself trapped in a dead end. The soldiers were nowhere to be seen, but there was nowhere else to run. Trydian spun and readied the axe. He was far from fast enough, as he felt his head crack against the wall behind him. He stared at Vylrath, who had somehow managed to catch him. He realized what was wrong with his father then; Vylrath did not have the eyes of a Demon, or even a Vuri, but the multi-faceted eyes of one of the Yuurei bugs. Those eyes stared at him as Vylrath took hold of Trydian's throat and lifted him from the ground. Trydian screamed in horror and pain.

He flailed in Vylrath's grip, and felt himself becoming weaker. As the world dimmed he heard a new song, one that came from himself and not the Chaos Sword. Trydian screamed past his father's choke hold and the song had immediate effect. The walls around them rippled and stone shattered, filling the air with sharp shards. Vylrath released Trydian with a shouted curse in what Trydian knew to be the Yuurei tongue. Trydian fell to the ground and rolled away from his father desperately. He scrambled through the blasted walls and down beneath the streets of the city. Somehow he still held the axe he had found.

There was a second explosion and the gaping wound in Rivenfelde was widened. Trydian cursed as he fled deeper into the city's bowels, again pursued by his father. "What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?! This can't be happening. How the fuck is this rea-" Trydian was cut off as he felt a hot gash open along his back. He stumbled away from Vylrath and turned to face him, bringing up the axe in time to parry the next blow of the Chaos Sword. "Oh shit!" Trydian screamed and swung wildly at Vylrath. His attacks had no skill, but the flailing axehead kept his father back for the moment.

"Trydian!" Sebilla's voice, here in the city, haunted him. Trydian turned to see her standing, surrounded by Yuurei warriors. Vylrath also turned and a sneer twisted his lips. "No!" Trydian shouted and lunged at Vylrath, but he was too late. His father was racing down the corridor toward Sebilla. As he neared her a rope of fire twisted from Sebilla to Trydian, from her heart to his, and solidified into a chain. The links of the chain were heavy, and it drew him toward her inexorably. Trydian raced after his father and, in a moment of desperation, he sang the first song that came to his mind. Sebilla's song, and its effects were even more devastating than his own had been. All his love and loyalty, all his hatred and madness, were rolled into that song and sent chasing his father.

The air rippled visibly as though exposed to some great heat source, and Vylrath was lifted from his feet when that wave struck him. The Chaos Sword was torn from his hand and lost amid the destruction that followed. The stone of the walls melted away and the roof sagged in before collapsing. Sebilla was lost to him, but the chain of fire remained. Trydian could feel it burning into his flesh, marking him, and enslaving him to its cause. He had tried to protect Sebilla, and now he had trapped her on the other side of the cave in with Yuurei warriors. Vylrath, at least, was also trapped with Trydian.

"You bastard," Trydian whispered and hefted the axe. He rushed at Vylrath and screamed his rage. All of it, the hatred, the inadequacy, was thrown into one wild attack. He brought the axe down on Vylrath's head and shrieked his triumph. His father was thrown to the ground in a spray of blood and Trydian exulted. He had killed his father, he had killed Vylrath.

His victory was short lived as his father, now with one side of his face obscured by blood, rose to his feet. "You should be dead!" Trydian screamed, and hacked at Vylrath again. His father's left arm fell to the ground, and Trydian kept hacking away. When he had finished there was little left of his father. Trydian was breathing heavily, though his lips had curved into a feral snarl. He leaned on the axe and let out a breath of relief. He would have to find Sebilla, but he doubted it would be hard, not when he was chained to her as he was. Something beneath him stirred and Trydian glanced down. The blood of his father was pooling at his feet, and running up his legs. "Wha?!" Trydian twisted and tried to free himself, only to find he was trapped there. The blood raced up and entered through the gash in his back, mingling with his own.

A new song rose, overpowering all those that he could hear. It overpowered the world, and washed it away. A firestorm erupted in the sky over Rivenfelde, and the stone about him collapsed into nothing. The fire raced downward as the blood raced up, and soon his world was red. He was trapped in a lake of fire, and the agony assaulted him. His body was twisted out of shape, taken apart, and put back together within that fiery hell. "Is this what it's like to die? Is this the afterlife? Trydian found he couldn't even focus on this thought with the song screaming through his head.

Trydian's cry interrupted Kahlan's final speech to him. His eyes snapped wide open and focused clearly on the Chaos Sword. He didn't know where he was, or why he was no longer burning, but he knew something had changed. The song he had heard was his own, but not the song he had been born with. It was a song like his father's, but of greater complexity. Trydian Xanathi awoke and that song left his lips as Kahlan stood above him. His world narrowed to her, and the chain of fire that he could still see.

Trydian rose to his feet, careful to avoid the Chaos Sword. His skin had become darker, and his hair had become a shade of ebony to match. He stared down the length of Kahlan's sword and he smiled. He didn't need the Chaos Sword any longer, not with that song pulsing through his very soul. "You will do well to remove that weapon before I take it. I doubt Vylrath would be pleased if I had it in my possession once more." He turned from Kahlan to stare at Zaero and then Isabella, Caela, and Sebilla. That burning chain was still in his head, and he doubted he'd be able to convince himself it wasn't there.

Trydian held up the arm that Vylrath had broken and flexed his fingers. The bone had knit together already, and he felt only a discomfort with it. He looked beyond his hand to Zaero again and dismissed him with a glance. "Begone intruder. You have no place here, nor any power over any of us."

[Nayt]

Trydian's order to Zaero had marked the ending of the charade. Zaero stood, briefly, with his hands stuffed into his pockets and eyes shut. His lips were curled into an unseen frown. Indeed, this whole mess would have happened whether he approached his quarry while he was alone or not. It was probably better this way, yes. This way, the people who could get in his way weren't just going to come out of the woodwork over time, they had come out all at once. There was no one else in the shit-hole of a sandpit that was going to clutter up the field, too.

"I don't think . . ." Zaero began with a sullen tone, "You're taking this nearly as seriously as you should be."

Zaero had been patient enough so far. It was gentlemanly of him, truly. He started to walk. Truth be told, there was a bit of distance between he and Vylrath, and Isabella and Kahlan had placed themselves close to the man. Zaero's pace was slow and calculated. He was giving them time, yes--two minutes, until he'd happen upon them. At that point, there was no telling what he would do. Not a single one of them knew exactly what his intentions were, nor who he was exactly. The only two that might see find a semblance of recognition in him were Vylrath and Caela, and it was unlikely that they were going to understand why he seemed so familiar.

"You go about your personal dramas . . . all your bullshit lives that mean less than shit to anyone outside you're little . . . inner circle," Zaero talked with his hands, briefly lifting them at almost every other word, "And that's fine. But if you're going to carry it on here, you're going to find that my reactions will leave much to be desired. Namely, I'm going to break the neck of the next person that walks in front of me--and anyone that talks while I'm talking, I'm eating your heart. We clear? Good."

Zaero took his hands out of his pockets. He lifted one to the sky for the sake of emphasis.

"First and foremost!" Zaero shouted; his voice would not be deafened, nor would any further noise or interruption mute him, "There's only one of you actually worth eating. The whole lot of you smell like Hell. It's miserable. Your muscles are probably tougher than an orc's. Your skin probably tastes like fire and brimstone. Your bones probably taste like ash. The only one that smells remotely appetizing is running away right now."

Zaero turned his head to the side. For a short moment, he addressed someone other than they, the demon men and the women.

"Tanaka, take care of that. All this waiting's made me hungry."

He certainly didn't look like a person with a large appetite. He may have been closer to two hundred pounds, but it was all primarily muscle, and balanced around his body. He maintained a fairly slim stature. In the distance, something happened. What, exactly, the group would not be able to make sense of. There would be uncertainty, but Barclay had run off in that direction, and there was certainly a bit of commotion to follow over there. Commotion that was likely to end rather swiftly.

Nonetheless, Zaero focused his attention ahead again, once more upon Vylrath Xanathi. He continued to walk forward; soon, he'd be near Isabella Rivenfelde.

"And secondly, I'm here for Vylrath Xanathi. Why is none of your concern. If you plan to interrupt this, by all means get it over with. If you do not," Zaero pointed over to the right, "Then make some space. If you find my demands to be unsatisfactory, please let me know. The whole lot of you might be so grotesque that maggots would turn their noses, but I'm sure there's something inside of each and every one of you worth eating."

[Jen]

(Heads up: There's no OOC thread for this thread and I'm too lazy to make one >.>;; I'm going to be gone from Saturday-Tuesday because I'm moving and I won't have internet until Tuesday. I'll be completely out of touch with the interwebs ;_; but if you have anything at all to tell me or keep me updated on send offlines and emails (quietirishrose@aol.com). Until I get back please just assume I'm standing around and letting everything go by and that Kahlan has left with the sword back to the Fae Realm. Thanks guys <3!)

[Vylrath]

The sword would be in the hands of someone greater and more responsible. It was like letting God in on their dirty secrets. Shame filled him momentarily, but it was washed away with the words of Zaero. Barclay meant nothing to any of them. Their concern had always been with their family. Trydian had gotten out of control, but he had subdued that irresponsible brat.

“Go ahead and eat the man. He’s too spineless. You won’t get a lot off of him, I’m afraid.”

Get out of here Kahlan. Take the sword. These people don’t realize what it is. You and I both know the chaos it can create- you have seen the possible death. He turned toward her with a distinct acknowledgment that he would never see her again. Though Isabella doesn’t realize it, I am her maker. I would still have you as a bride, if I had my choice…you at least saw me as a friend instead of a bumbling idiot!

He yanked Isabella back from harming their son any further. Whether she liked it or not, he could cause the most harm on any of them- save for Kahlan. He sent thoughts of hate into her skull- only momentarily. It would be like receiving a great headache that only blossomed into more pain. She wouldn’t be able to hear any outside noise and would more than likely be put to her knees.

“He is already injured by my hand and you desire to make him even more useless?” He hissed his words at her, speaking through his teeth. It was not a desire to treat her this way, but she had pushed him to his limit as a man.

The pain would stop and her mind would clear with her familiar intelligence. “He is YOUR KING. We are retired, Isabella! We need young blood ruling our lands! Now he will be in more control of himself. The Vuri will take away most of his demonic powers- I will know what he is up to at all times. How can you not like that idea?! This new world needs a young ruler who isn’t PLAGUED by his PAST.”

He sat down on the ground and held his own head. It wasn’t his idea to torture people, but they kept defying him, acting as if he weren’t a being with his own thoughts.

[Iskander]

Trydian watched Zaero as he gave his speech, allowing the creature its moment of ego. Barclay didn't matter to him; he didn't even know the man. Vylrath also didn't matter much to him, though he'd learned something during his battle with his father's specter. Vylrath was a hateful man, but fighting him would accomplish nothing. Fighting him would put Sebilla in danger. There was no point in being openly aggressive.

Trydian felt... calm. He had rarely felt this way in his short life. There was always rage boiling in his veins. Now he was in control of himself, and it was because of Vylrath. And Zaero wanted to eat him. That was unacceptable.

A song rose into Trydian's head, a new song, and he knew what to do. Instead of weakening him, or making him more easily controlled, Vylrath had unlocked magic that Trydian had never imagined. He gave no warning to Zaero, or even to his family; Trydian tilted his head back and began to sing. The words were in the Vuri tongue, and held great power.

"Být tebe Nudit nepočítaný Krveprolití" (Be thou Weary unto Death)

The spell rushed out from him in a wave of black wind. The first person who would encounter it would be Vylrath, and then Isabella, Caela, Sebilla, and even Zaero were all within its range. The men and women unlucky enough to be caught in its power would find a lethargy stealing over them; a lack of energy so devastating they would find it difficult to even remain standing.

Trydian continued to sing, and the shadow orbs took their place above his shoulders again. Frost once more made its way down his body, though the young man took no notice of it.

[littlebean]

Quickly their bickering, threatening and whatever conversation they were having was becoming more and more distant until finally, only the sound of his feet pounding against the ground could be heard. He didn't look back, didn't even smile to himself for his successful escape, but kept running. The bags in his hand bumped and shuffled together, in the other the remaining alchohol in his bottle splashed in its container quickly with his pace. Barclay was practising his get the fuck out as fast as he could.

It was almost surprising to him that he could even escape, that he could slip by the mighty Vylrath without getting caught. More that likely, Vylrath cared as much for Barclay as Barclay did for Vylrath, which was none at all. In fact, Vylrath probably knew he was leaving and made nothing of it. He wouldn't ammuse himself with the idea that he succeeded in escaping, because he was allowed to. Between Barclay and Vylrath there was no comparison, he wouldn't stand a chance, which was why exactly he was leaving.

Behind him though, it seemed that someone was pursuing him? Perhaps he was wrong? Despite his distrust and dislike for Vylrath, inwardly he hoped it was him instead of some horrible creature...

[Nayt]

And as soon as Barclay looked behind him, in search of some sort of fiend making chase, he would come to an abrupt stop. It may have even thrown him back, forced him to stumble, or even knocked him off his feet and into the sand tailbone first.

What had stopped him, specifically, was another body, a body which would not budge, had Barclay ran into it and experienced the recoil of striking a nigh movable object at a running speed. The first thing anyone could really notice about him was that the only skin visible on his entire body were of his eyes and the lower half of his brow, specifically because the rest of his body was covered in robes. They were white robes, lightweight, and clung to his form, with what looked like light leather gear strapped to his chest and belt. On his shoulders, two large human-faced masks attached to the leather straps around his shoulder, and possibly acted like shoulder-guarded. A white cloth covered his faced below his eyes, and another larger white cloth covered the rest of his head.

He looked like he belonged here, yes; he seemed to be dressed like some sort of desert assassin, but at the same time, with what little could be seen of his face, he had the eyes and brow of a Cizokian. For that matter, he was a little shorter than the average Algerothian or Xexorian--in such countries, it was common for a man to reach six feet or six feet and an inch. This man, however, was about five inches shorter than the norm of Xexoria.

Nonetheless, this man was not permitting Barclay to go any further. If this wasn't someone he considered to be a threat in the very near future, Barclay would find himself in grave danger . . .

_____________

It seemed Vylrath still wasn't taking this as seriously as he needed to. Odd, but Zaero should have expected it. With the way things worked here in Xexoria, and amongst this particular group, personal dramas took point over an interloper. That may very well have been the entire reason behind the Yuurei's domination of the land. Had they disregarded their own inner struggles for even a brief moment, they would have seen it coming. Zaero didn't mind taking advantage of this, though. Fights were not intended to be fair. That was simply the nature of war. Each side would look for as many advantages as it could muster, and whoever had the most advantages generally won out in the end.

But, at the same time, it seemed that one of this group could put his personal struggle aside and focus upon the threat the others acted blind towards. This, too, should have been expected! Trydian had focused on Zaero more than anyone else had, and now, with full self control, he was making his move.

Zaero stopped walking just a second following the beginning of Trydian's song. Something was off. Zaero lifted his hand, clenching it into a fist and then loosening his fingers just a second later. Odd. His hand felt like it had a little weight to it. That certainly shouldn't have been happening. There was a good fifteen foot distance between Zaero and Trydian; they were close, but not too close.

The patchwork young man said nothing in particular, but still passed an inquisitive stare from his hand to Trydian Xanathi. Whatever it was he had in mind, it was certainly interesting . . .

[Vylrath]

He looked toward his son, who continued to exhibit more strength. It was impressive, but it didn’t seem to bother Vylrath in the least. Even if it impaired his movement slightly, he could still communicate. Looking toward Zaero, he wondered what importance he would really have on him. Now that his son was in control, the Vuri race could be freed from his tyrannical rule.


…Might be a good time to take our friend captive.

He moved toward Zaero, motioning for Trydian. In his mind, he only spoke to Trydian. Isabella would be ignored momentarily, while he planned out his idea. If they could gain control of Zaero, interrogate him, then his mind might be at rest. They could easily go back to rebuilding their home.

I have to tell you something, because I don’t want anyone else to have it. Death doesn’t even deserve it: my demonic soul. We can try to summon it, if you think you can gain control of it. We would have to head back to the Vuri Sanctuary to perform the ritual. By then, this spell should have worn off. That means, you would not only be Vuri, but still be in control of your demonic powers- just more honed in on them than any demon on this Earth.

He looked toward Isabella who was still motionless. I’ve never had such a peaceful moment…

It was his theory that Trydian would accept the offer- who wouldn’t? His soul would be one of the strongest and his son should be able to handle it. It would be an interesting to see the outcome of such a mix.

[Iskander]

Vylrath was distracting. He spoke into Trydian's mind, and almost caused him to lose control of his magics. Trydian focused on Zaero and drowned out Vylrath with his song. His father could wait until he'd finished dealing with the intruder. Security was of importance to Trydian, especially with Sebilla there.

The young man lunged forward to close the distance between himself and Zaero. His song rose again and a second wave of energy washed out.

"Být tebe Hluchý a Stín!" (Be thou Deaf and Blind)

Trydian's second curse was aggressive, its magics distorting the muscles of the eyes and ears to leave those caught in its powers blind and deaf. He was unaware that the curse would strike at his own allies; Trydian focused only on Zaero then. Family squabbles and souls were only important if the intruder lay dead or captured, and Trydian intended to end things quickly.

One shadow orb spread across his right arm, encasing it in what might have been armour. The second orb began to orbit Trydian's head. Both continued to fill the air with a chill that became greater the longer Trydian sang.

He had closed to within seven feet of Zaero.

[Nayt]

The oddities continued. Slow as it was, the world around him progressively became less and less lively. With time, there were fewer sounds; every second that passed was another sound he could not hear. Trydian Xanathi, walking forward as he was, ceased to produce a noise when his foot touched ground. Odd, indeed. Zaero half shut his eyes and breathed in through his nose. Still, he said nothing, nor did he move. His limbs were slowed, definitely; without a doubt he felt heavier. It was like gravity was trying to drag him into the earth, and now it was absorbing all the noises around him. As odd as it was, though, it was equally interesting.

Very interesting, indeed.

It was becoming harder and harder to see his hand, too. The young man slowly but surely closing the gap between them was slowly becoming harder to see, too. So very interesting. He couldn't hear the song anymore, and now he couldn't even see the young man's lips move.

Zaero let out a sigh.

This was about to get tedious, wasn't it?

The muscle under his left eye twitched and his brow furrowed. Zaero looked as if he was thinking fairly hard about something. What, however, there was no way to tell--no way to penetrate his mind, no way to gauge his spirit. Regarding him, they were still in the dark.

[littlebean]

FREEDOM! YES, HE COULD TASTE IT! When Barclay looked behind him he didn't see anyone or hear anyone, the conflict was out of sight! This meant he could start over, move on with his life, cremate some more bodies and eventually get back into business without crazy stories about immortals and demon encounters and-

SMACKCRASH!

The smacking sound was from Barclay running at full speed into what felt like a sturdy wall, the crash was from his bottle dropping on the ground, hitting a rock and smashing into a million pieces, it's precious contents dripping into the sand, never to be consumed again.

"Auughhh." It took him a few moments of writhing on the ground, recovering from the harsh and sudden impact. As if he didn't have enough of a headache, now his head rang hardern, and Barclay only crawled onto his hands and knees very slowly, wincing the whole time, muttering potty mouth to himself. When he saw what was left of his bottle, he cursed some more.

"Fuck! God Damnit!" When he was running he was almost certain that there wasn't anything ahead of him, was there? It couldn't be, just a moment ago there was nothing! Recovering from the impact he finally looked up from the ground and was baffled to see the obstacle responsible for the collision. A person? Tinier than him even, a dwarf by comparison! How was it that he fell, and the smaller one stood still?

The look Barclay gave the man was hilariously baffled when he saw just what it was that stopped him. Picking up what was left of his belongings, he apologized to the stranger, and went to continue on his way.

"Sorry I didn't see you. Got to go now, bye."

[Vylrath]

Vylrath looked toward his son and sighed- if he could sigh. He was now blind and deaf. It brought back memories of death…something he didn’t want to revisit.

By the Goddess, you know how to throw a temper tantrum, don’cha? At least you aren’t dense with your powers.

He chuckled, wondering if he should mimic an old crippled man for humor. “I don’t know what you want with me Zaero, but we could at least talk about it. We’re as useless at two newborn babes.” The handicap was beginning to irk him. He couldn’t stare at his wife’s breasts and he had to keep sitting on the ground. This was beginning to piss him off.

“Well, now what? Should we feel for each other and have a slapping match?”

[Iskander]

Vylrath continued to insist on speaking to Trydian, and he continued to refuse to consider Zaero a threat. Trydian felt a spark of his old anger, but it was drowned out almost immediately by the new song. Vylrath himself had said that Trydian was King, and as King it was his duty to protect his people, even if they acted like idiots. Trydian's brow furrowed, not that Zaero or Vylrath would see it. He had taken himself into striking distance of Zaero, and he hoped the intruder wouldn't be able to strike back. He took several steps to the side for good measure.

Trydian's song dropped low until he was humming the tune wordlessly. He cast no new curses, but instead the orb circling his head paused between his body and Zaero's. As soon as it stopped moving the orb elongated, sending out an appendage toward Zaero's chest. The extension of the spike, and its retraction after reaching Zaero, was fast enough that even Trydian had to strain to catch it.

For Zaero's part, that shadow spike would be a particularly unpleasant experience. Not only had the shadow been hardened to a point, but all the heat it had soaked up from the area made it hot enough to burn through flesh. The heat was in stark contrast to the frost that had covered Trydian, and which remained on him as the shadow encasing his right arm continued to soak up heat from the area.

Will you be quiet? I'm attending to business. Trydian shot the thought at Vylrath during a moment of his song that did not require his full concentration.

[Nayt]

He was an odd fellow. His brow did not furrow, his eyes did not move, and no part of his body flinched. He was perfectly still, for all intents and purposes. He said nothing when Barclay apologized; not even the slightest bit of thanks, or an apology of his own, for standing in the man's way.

Just as Barclay started past the robed man, however, he would be stopped short. The man's hand would be flat upon Barclay's chest, very briefly, before pushing forward with a heave. He didn't look that strong. He was short, and while his robes fit him rather loosely, if he had any excessive amount of musculature, one would have been able to tell with a glance. No, he shouldn't have been all that powerful.

But he was. Barclay would experience this first hand, as the push would very well throw him into the air, damned to plummet tailbone first into the sand--again. Except this time, it would be a significant distance in which he was threatened; it would take very little effort for the man to throw Barclay a dozen feet from where he stood. Barclay had the advantage of sand, though. Throws and falls weren't necessarily going to hurt him that bad, physically. The sand was like a good pillow--and after spending enough time with the company he kept, and now fled from, he likely didn't have much pride left to be hurt all that badly, either.

Nonetheless, it would be clear enough after the throw that he wasn't quite going to let Barclay go . . .

________

Zaero's reaction was . . . menial, at best. His eyes shut when it became fruitless to even keep them open anymore, and his hand, previously lifted up to his face, slowly dropped down to his side. Lethargy. It was a strange feeling, and an equally as interesting one, too. The lethargy came from the same source of the awkward feeling of heaviness. Yes, two very interesting sensations at once--paired with yet another interesting predicament: the fact that he could no longer see, nor hear.

There was the slightest wince once the spear of darkness punctured his chest. It should have sent the man to the ground, considering the other curses that were berating him, but all he did was wince. Either he couldn't feel it very well or it wasn't too terribly effective against him.

But either way, no blood escaped the wound.

Again, Zaero sighed. This really had become tedious, just as he hoped it wouldn't have. It may have been interesting and even enlightening, for lack of a better term, but now it was just tedious. This needed to stop.

"Hurt him, Vrar-a," Zaero whispered, "Hurt him bad."

[Paroxysm]

It was a very good thing that the majority of the people gathered had already been made deaf by Trydian’s ability, for with the very mention of the beast’s name, a loud, deafening, and rage-filled roar replied immediately afterwards. It had been awake the entire time, listening and watching all that had transpired this day. Yes, it had seen the arrogance and the idiocy; it had witnessed the drama and the in-fighting.

Some even seemed to think themselves powerful warriors, attempting to halt Zaero’s progression and goal, a task that the beast had already grown tired with, and it would see today’s work come to an end one way or the other. It did not matter what other abilities these people had, it did not matter what evil lurked in their blood, or what terrible deeds they had done in the past. Today, at this very moment, there was something or someone far more terrifying present.

Indeed, the thing had already manifested upon the order given by Zaero, in truth it did not respect the man-thing very much, and it actually hated him far more than it had hated anything, ever. But the others around it, the demons, the vuri, or whatever they called themselves--they were really close at this point. Such a fast advancement in hate could not go unpunished, that would have simply been uncivilized.

To the side of Zaero would be standing a female Orc, its body fully encased in armor, a double-bladed battle axe held firmly and easily in her right hand. The Orc was just shy of six-foot and four inches, her brow was furrowed, and a fanged smile spread across her features in stark reference to just how much she loved what she was about to do.

An invisible aura of force would be felt by all who had the ability to gauge another being's presence, it was a simple tool used in combat, a means to settle a fight before it ever started, and all warriors who had any battle experience soon grew to learn this ability--it was called something specific in the human lands of Cizok, or so the thing's father had told her years ago, but it was irrelevant and all that mattered was that any with this ability would soon realize what they faced.
This was no neglected child looking for its long lost father and nor was it some fool, fledgling demon seeking to prove itself a man. This was an Orchish warrior, the daughter of her clan's War Chief, and a former War Chief, herself.

No attempt was made to speak to those gathered, although they could rest assured that the Orc, called Vrar-a by Zaero, was by no means affected by this song, oh no she wasn't, such a poorly put together spell did nothing to her, it would take at least a moment of preparation before her senses became dulled.

Vrar-a’s battle axe was lifted away from the ground, placed in rest against her shoulder, her armor-clad feet dug into the sand, although unused to fighting in the desert, she was well aware of how to keep her footing on the battle-field, she had battled in swamps, in snow, in forests, and on the backs of her fallen brothers--sand would soon be mastered, as well.

Everything would be in slow-motion, the beast’s heavy axe was taken from resting upon her shoulder, her eyes lighting aflame with an intensity that could not be described by words alone, her fanged smile, in refusal to become diminished, increased in size, and the axe that had been taken from her shoulder would be held in poise; however, this momentary pause would be a near instant, a reflection inwards for the Orc, as she became centered, her endless rage held on the leash for now, for one’s ace should not be played at the beginning of battle, no; her rage would play a role later--should she be gained upon.

The pause ended in a blur of movement, the axe was brought down, but not upon the ground--it was held to the Orc’s side, as she moved towards Trydian, due to the fact that she had manifested just beside Zaero, she would not be very far from the man. Indeed, as he made sure he was within striking distance of Zaero, so had Trydian became within striking distance for Vrar-a, so as she moved, her weapon would be swung back, and then swung forwards again, into a horizontal slash, enough force behind the attack that if her enemy blocked with a weapon, it could very well end up broken and shattered, however; the Orc prayed that her opponent was not so fragile as to end up with a broken arm to match. She would take her sweet time with this fight, if she had her way, but that did not mean she would let up on her assault. They faced no human-thing this day, they faced an Orc. And she would show them the difference.