- THE LEVIATHAN -

Vargas blinked as his sight returned more fully. He started to jerk toward Archon--only to see that there were two of them, now, and both were speeding toward him. The sickles were unlikely to cause much real harm but they could bleed him, he knew, and he'd rather... not do that.

He had magic that could identify which were real but that'd take time. Perhaps he could've found something by sight alone if he weren't still blinking away that blinding glow. Or his Master power to simply pick out which one had a stone, if he'd had a second to concentrate, but he didn't.

So he picked one, leaping for it, with the logic that even if he fell into dust it'd give him distance from the other.

And if he did get the right one, it'd be enough to grab him, to throw him bodily down and give him a sharp, harsh elbow to the chest. That, he gauged, would be enough to finish the fight.

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: list attempts
DEFENSE: none
INJURIES: none

It didn't work.

Vargas was flying for him, or jumping high enough that it was like flying, and he had a heartbeat before he'd be crashed down to earth. He was too fast, too strong, implacable; the second he was thwarted he was back on the offensive at once.

He was a little scared--too full of adrenaline to really feel it--and a little angry at how unfair it felt.

A snarl curled his face, fangs bared, and he beat his wings to lurch up and backward, trying to give himself enough space for just one good swing with the sickles.

The blades swept inward, Vargas hopefully too close and too commited to avoid it, now; they swept for his maw, his head. Archon wasn't sure if they hit. Vargas hit him, and the impact on sickles and body both was intense; he came crashing down, smashing hard enough into rock for the breath to be knocked out of him and then--though Vargas hadn't landed full-on him (an act that surely would have thrown him to the chrysalis)--something did slam into his chest hard enough to elicit a strangled cry of agony. He tried to roll, but Vargas had him.

costume credit - big-ashb on flickr

ROUND 5/5

ATTEMPT: slice Vargas
DEFENSE: none
INJURIES: battered and scratched

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He heard the cry, and too he felt a sharp pain laced across his own snout and face. He released Archon to back away, lifting the back of his own forelimb to press to his injuries.

He then drew it away, and looked. His acidic blood was spilled, but not too badly. The scythes were sharp but even so, his angle of impact had made it so the wounds were not severe. Both had gouged inward; they might leave scars--he wasn't sure, and didn't care.

He looked to Archon. "Enough," he said calmly. Archon looked stunned, but not dead or dying. "Are you injured?" He'd let him take stock, for a moment, and then they would discuss.

Character: Vargas Age: +25 (118860 Cycles) Magic Level: +5 (Champion) ROUND 1 Attempt: +7 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +6 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +13 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +18 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - Total: 91

Character: Archon Age: +15 (15 Cycles) Magic Level: +2 (Pupil) ROUND 1 Attempt: +1 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +16 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +16 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +8 Penalties: - Total: 75

WINNER: Vargas

He was hurt, and his mind was swirling. It was hard to focus enough past the frustration and shame, the anger and exhilaration, to actually check if he were wounded. He did his best to obey and to concentrate, instead of letting the urge to sulk drag him down.

He rolled slowly up, setting the sickles down and--with a wary glance up at the Leviathan--patted himself down. He's bleeding, he realized, and there was a savage thrill in knowing he'd struck at least one blow.

"I am hurt but not... truly injured. I think." With the rush of adrenaline, it was hard to tell. What felt like scuffs now might prove to be severe bruising tomorrow; he had no way of knowing.

Then the question rose in his mind: had he passed whatever test this had been? Or was it a miserable failure..? His gaze slid back to Vargas's, jaw set, preparing for the worst.

costume credit - big-ashb on flickr

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He lifted his forelimb again, checking the flow of blood. It was mostly stemmed, already, though it hissed and popped where it ate at Draco's floor. He eyed the sickles. "Clean those, and don't let my blood touch your skin. It will damage the metal or you." Priorities.

Next, he rolled his shoulders, thinking. "That was not bad. There were things you could have done better but you could have also done far worse. Splitting yourself and blinding me were both wise, but have a plan in case I lunge, regardless. Even if I had gone for the wrong target I would have bought myself space from the right one. Learn defensive abilities. Something to knock me backward or provide a shield, if you plan on utilizing magic; or practice dodging, if you do not." He considered, briefly.

"I would suggest finding someone with powers of the mind, in the former case. You could use that to throw a target or fling them off-balance or even into the air, and follow up from there. Practice that magic when you are alone, outside of combat. Hone it. I saw nothing fail, however; you seem well-versed in our shared element." Another pause of thought. "Scout the way to Centaurus, more than one path, if you can help it. Imagine where you would ambush a convoy en route, and watch those spaces or take precautions, even set traps there. We can practice, another time, how you would deal with such a thing but do as I ask, in the meantime: practice, and learn more defensive magic. Or if you wish to fight physically, then practice dodging these attacks."

His words were given matter-of-factly, with little regard to the cuts across his face. So far as he was concerned, everything he'd said was true. Archon could have done worse, but at the moment, there was no way Vargas would rely upon or trust him to defend another of the Forge. He would have to send two at a minimum until Archon was better trained.

"Do that as soon as possible. If you are travelling to and from Draco, alone and regularly and on a regular route, Order will seek to ambush you. They will know that you have wings, so don't rely on that for your survival. Do you understand everything I am telling you?" Important to ask, just in case he'd... banged his head, or something.

Archon, still a bit dazed, looked down and saw the hiss of the blood. He recognized it, for his own was much the same, albeit a little weaker--and he hastened to use the hem of his cloak to wipe it away from the blades.

To the rest, he listened--and when he realized he was still slumped and sitting, he blinked and staggered upright. He was sore, aching, and he knew it'd be days before he was well again. Each movement elicited a wince, especially anything at his chest.

He struggled to follow along, taking notes, and this time when Vargas asked if he understood, he did give a list--just to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

"Defensive magics... magic of the mind. A magic shield, and practice outside of combat. Then-..." He thought, wincing; his words came halting and laced with pain. "Scout multiple routes, fully. Ambush points, maybe trap them." He wheezed. "Did I forget anything?" he asked, too pained to be anything but honest, that pain showing keenly in his eyes as he winced up.

costume credit - big-ashb on flickr

- THE LEVIATHAN -

He'd simplified, but maybe that was a good thing. Easier for him to remember, particularly in his state. Vargas looked him over again.

He wasn't whining, which was good; no complaining at all. And he wasn't shirking his duties or arguing. Vargas nodded. "Good. Then I think we are done here. Find me if you have questions, and when you have learned enough that you feel ready for me to test you again." He paused, running his own mind over everything, but he could think of nothing he'd left out.

"And Emissary Archon," he added, using the full title and name simply as a form of praise, "inform me each time you plan to depart for Centaurus."

He waited a beat, then nodded and turned, pacing his way back the way he'd come. He'd have to find something--clay, maybe, in the tunnel--to patch this bleeding up, before it ate away the rock.

exit Vargas

At the full address he swelled a little with pride, though he noted too that in retrospect it seemed a little silly. A title-title, instead of a title plus a true name; he'd just have to get used to that name being 'Archon.'

"I will," he assured Vargas, with as strong a voice as he could muster. But as the Leviathan turned and strode off, Archon found it difficult to even walk. Each step was pain, breath aching to inhale and to exhale. He took a moment to hang the sickles at the belt-loops they belonged in, and then took flight, instead. That hurt, but not as badly; it'd let him go get some water somewhere, and then rest for awhile.

costume credit - big-ashb on flickr

exit Archon