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Smoke and Wind; Artorius and Kaladin
Topic Started: Jul 30 2016, 04:50 AM (171 Views)
Fafnir Rakesh
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Sarcasm. Because beating the shit out of people is illegal.

Days had passed since Kaladin returned to the world following his meeting with Grandine and subsequent training that had transformed him into a Dragon Slayer. Yet already it felt like a lifetime ago since he'd made his way out of the Wuju Valley and returned to the world of man once more. It was odd, he couldn't help but realise, how much he'd changed whilst the whole world seemed to have remained exactly the same. He still wasn't entirely sure how long he'd been up in the mountains, but he knew it had to have been months at least. As he walked the streets of the city that he'd come across he couldn't help but feel like he ought to attract stares from those that passed, yet he was barely spared a glance despite what he'd become and he was grateful for it.

But he hadn't come to this city, the name of which he was ignorant of, just to see how people reacted to him. He'd been led here in a manner of speaking. Aside from the abilities he'd practiced and honed with Grandine, he'd quickly become aware of another ability that she hadn't mentioned. He could smell things. Or to be more accurate, he could smell things with such accuracy and over such distance that no human ought to be capable of doing. It was with this ability that he'd caught a scent that was at once both familiar and foreign carried to him on the breeze and instinct had led him to track it down.

He'd smelled the city long before he laid eyes on it, the unpleasant odor of unwashed bodies in close proximity and all the other unpleasant elements that came with a large city could only be described as pungent compared to the crispness of the Wuju Valley. But even over the foulness of the city, he could still detect the scent that had drawn him here in the first place. Despite that however, it had taken him some time to stop feeling physically sick from the myriad of smells that assaulted him once he was within its walls. He'd thrown up twice in the street, though nobody seemed to notice or care and even now with an empty stomach he felt nausea swirling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe coming here had been a terrible idea, but he had to at least find the source of the smell after coming this far. After that, he swore to himself, he'd never return to this foul smelling place again in his life.

As he drew closer to the center of the city and the scent grew stronger he actually found that by concentrating on it he could block out some of the other scents and the feeling of wanting to throw up was gradually lessening. From the center of the city he travelled east, crossing a tepid river and finding himself standing before a building that looked as ancient as it did uninhabited. But the scent that had drawn him here was clearly originating from within and so he swallowed heavily and approached the front door. Then he knocked three times in slow succession and then... he waited.
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Mazohyst
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Stay the course.

The sound of yowling and hissing cats would no doubt alarm the young man. There were dozens of them, and the sheer volume and pitch of their screeches was enough to set a person on edge, especially as they were making their approach to an undoubtedly ancient manor, one which was shrouded in shadows, mystery, and roils of fog banks that surrounded it, coming off from its proximity to the river and the harbor. The cold fog that permeated the air gave the entrance a terrible chill, one strong enough to prickle the skin with gooseskin if they weren't already there.

The young man gave three knocks, each in slow succession. The first and second came with no response, but by the time he knocked a third time, a scent filled his nostrils. It was a nutty, smoky scent, like split hickory and ash thrown into a fire. But as the young man would turn, finding the source of the scent in the form of a man, one garbed in shades of dark blue and black, with bronze metal adorning his belt buckles and swords, he would find another scent infused into it altogether. One of power. Pure, raw, savage, unadulterated power. The likes of which he would only remember ever experiencing in the presence of his mentor, a legendary Dragon.

Through the shadow created by the hood he had draped over his head, the young man would find a semblance of a smirk formed at one corner of his lips, while an unfiltered cigarette hung from the other. Slowly, his fingers crept from his side to his lips, and he took the burning stick in one of his hands, before he breathed. And as he breathed, a huge cloud of smoke, thicker and denser than all the fog which collectively hung around Dandelion combined, shrouded both him and the young man. By the time the young man's senses were cleared, the tears cleansed from his eyes, the ash and soot and particulate coughed from his throat, and the smoke cleared, the man was gone altogether. Leaving nothing.

Nothing except a scent.

Standing in the distance, atop a building no less than five stories high, the man waited, as though beckoning for the younger man to follow. He was doing just that, for the moment the white-haired boy made an attempt to chase, the hooded man would leap from one rooftop to the next.

The test had begun.
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Fafnir Rakesh
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Sarcasm. Because beating the shit out of people is illegal.

Of all the things that Kaladin had been expecting to find within the enormous building, the cacophony of mewling cats certainly wasn't it. But moreso than the chorus of mewls, Kaladin noticed a distinct change in the nature of the smell that he'd followed here. For starters, its source was now coming from an entirely different place and in the handful of seconds it took him to realise the source was now behind him, he also noticed the unpleasant addition of cigarette smoke as well as a number of masking agents that carried the far less unpleasant tang of hickory and ash.

Kaladin turned, finding that the mist that had once hung loosely had now condensed so drastically that he could barely make out the figure clad in blue and black but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was the source of the scent he'd followed all this way. This man carried the scent that made him think of Grandine, but before he could open his mouth to speak the world went dark and Kaladin found himself choking on smoke with the consistency of ash as a wave of power swept over him and causing him to throw up his hands as though it could somehow shield him from the oppressive feeling. Then it was gone, leaving behind only the man's scent and the cloud of smoke that Kaladin staggered blindly through until he emerged with aching lungs and and stinging eyes.

A strong breeze tugged at Kaladin's clothes as he looked around for any physical sign of the man who had just, he supposed, assaulted him in the most bizarre fashion. But there was nothing but his scent, which Kaladin found he could follow even more easily before but he didn't know if that was because of how close he'd come to the man or simply because he was growing more accustomed to his own abilities. Whatever the case, he could almost see the scent trail such was its vibrancy and he turned his eyes skyward to the rooftops that had served as the man's escape route and then he began to run.

As he raced towards the wall of the nearest building, Kaladin leaped into the air a full five meters short of the wall, but as he reached the apex of his climb he stepped off empty air to extend his distance before landing like a cat against the building and then pushing backwards into a somersault before once again pushing off of empty air to reach the same position against the wall but higher up. Deftly, kaladin repeated this process in quick succession to reach the edge of the rooftop where the man he sought had been waiting and watching him before deftly pulling himself up... only to see the man already sprinting across the next rooftop.

"Wait!" He shouted at the man's back but to no avail Cursing under his breath as he gave chase, Kaladin reached the gap between the first set of buildings and leaped without hesitation, clearing it without the need for magical aid. The next gap was wider and whilst the man he was pursuing it cleared it in a single superhuman bound, Kaladin was forced to double jump once again in order to make it. He'd thought for a moment that he might have an advantage in this pursuit across such open terrain but he was quickly realising that he couldn't have been more wrong. He needed to slow the man down somehow, but he couldn't just open fire lest he cause significant property damage or worse. Plus he didn't want to hurt the man, only speak to him. "I should have just stayed in the mountains...", he sighed aloud as he cleared the third successive gap between buildings, all the while looking for some way to close the distance between him and the man he was pursuing.
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Mazohyst
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Stay the course.

Perched atop the high rooftop, the hooded man waited patiently for the other to arrive. The moment he did, a flurry of limbs quickly assailed the younger man. A right kick to the leg, then rising up to the ribs, before the hooded man spun, sending a gloved backhand towards the boy's cheek, all hidden behind a myriad of feints and jabs that would leave one disoriented and confused and wondering which strike was real and which was not. And after the flurry was done with, the man retreated once more, heading to the next rooftop in a single effortless leap, and landing in a billowy cloud of dust and smoke, leaving the younger man quite dazed, confused, and likely bruised. But the boy would be left with a peculiar feeling. One of familiarity. For, the hooded man's strikes were almost inhuman, not merely in how fast they were, but in the savagery and ferality of it all. Moreover, he was undoubtedly holding back. The boy would quickly realize that the hooded man had enough power to fell a man, or even a building if he so chose to do so, in a single swing.

As the boy reached the next rooftop, one rife with litter, trash, cloth and linen hung up to dry, and dozens of air conditioning vents, the man seemed to have all but disappeared. He was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere at all. But the boy had a way to find him. A method quite signature to his kind. Scent. While he could not see him through all the refuse and litter, only ever seeing a shadow at best, his scent could not so easily be hidden.

But could the white-haired boy combine his scent with his reflexes? His instincts? It had only been some days since he left the famed Valley of Swordsmen, and he had only been training for some few months. Did the boy have it in him?

That's exactly what the hooded man was trying to find out. A test. Not through words or writing, but through blood and blade, flesh and muscle, power and instinct.

From behind the veil of strung up laundry, the man made his move. A silver blade that oozed ashen mist generated from his right forearm, hanging for at least a meter over and beyond his fist. With this smoking blade, he struck, sweeping past the boy, aiming to cut at his limbs. Shallowly, as though he were playing with him.
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Fafnir Rakesh
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Sarcasm. Because beating the shit out of people is illegal.

Kaladin had been so focused on catching up to the man ahead of him that he hadn't given any thought to exactly what he'd do if he actually managed to do it. Unfortunately, the man had clearly given it some thought and come to a conclusion as Kaladin landed on the latest rooftop in their city wide game of cat and mouse only to find himself under a sudden assault that began with his lower body and swiftly moved up, obviously seeking to destabilse his core and leave him open to subsequent attacks... and it worked. Kaladin had taken three hits before frantically reasserting himself and trying to stagger away, but the man advanced on him, limbs striking out at him like a cloud that scored several more hits that reminded him vividly of what it had been like to spar with Grandine.

He was outmatched here, completely and unequivocally just as he had been against his mentor and in the midst of that realisation as he struggled to defend himself against any blows he could, he came to one conclusion. This man was a Dragon Slayer like him, but far more advanced in both power and expertise. That was why his scent had seemed so familiar, they were peers in a sense and he had a feeling that if they hadn't been... Kaladin might well have been dead already.

Suddenly, the assault ended and in another explosion of smoke Kaladin was left coughing and spluttering before it cleared to reveal an empty rooftop as far as Kaladin's senses could tell him. All of them that was, except for one... for the scent that had by now grown to be almost as familiar to him as Grandines was still nearby... he was lurking somewhere nearby... somewhere like... there! Turning suddenly, Kaladin brought his arm up as Artorius emerged from behind the clothes line and the wind coalesced between his hands to form a spear of swirling silver magic that barely managed to deflect the attack as it came past and only then because it had been an intentionally light attack to begin with.

This in turn led to Kaladin's first and perhaps only opportunity to counterattack as the man swept past him he drew in a great breath of air and exhaled a powerful stream of silver magic that only a Dragon Slayer was capable of producing and now he leveled that attack at the man who was little more than three arms lengths away from him by the time he let the attack fly.
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Mazohyst
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Stay the course.

Words are a waste of time. Destruction is a language everyone understands. And it was this that Artorius had long been waiting for. Savagery, instinct, all honed to perfection, culminating in the form of a beam of pure magic, one of the most basic and essential of all Dragon Slaying techniques. And it was coming straight towards him, tearing through cloth and debris like it was nothing, punching holes, shredding to pieces, and obliterating almost everything it touched.

Artorius breathed, sucking in the cold, temperate air deep into his lungs, letting it reach his very core. He concentrated, ignoring the beam rocketing through the air straight towards him. It was when the beam nearly struck him dead-on that Artorius had finally answered, replying to the younger man's shout in earnest.

A silver stream of magic burst from the man's mouth in a feral, savage roar. The two beams, both of silver -- one pure and brilliant, with a radiant shining quality, and the other mysterious, with tumbling roils of smoke flowing around it wildly, smashed into one another. A brilliant white light consumed the rooftop, momentarily blinding, and then, at the end of it all, when the dust and smoke cleared, the two men stood before one another. A large crack in the rooftop, a sort of carving where the wind beam struck formed. It looked as though a giant had taken an enormous blade and carved deep into the stone. But where the other beam, the one of smoke, had struck, an enormous section of concrete that existed as the rooftop's railing simply ceased to exist. It was as though it were never there in the first place.

"Not bad, kid," Artorius finally said, removing his hood before he sat down beside a no-longer functioning ventilation unit. "Still got a ways to go, but could be worse I guess. So, what brings you to this trash heap? Had enough of the Wuji?"
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