Of Monsters and Men

Solomon, the Deathbringer​

Solomon watched Veera's face with anticipation and more than a little bit of glee as she regarded the face of her former friend. The two witchers stood ready to fight. Veera was far more skilled, but Aaron was stronger, empowered by necromantic magic. This Aaron didn't tire, or fear, or show any signs of weakness, pain did not affect him, all he had to do was drag out the fight and he'd surely win.
"Oh my gosh, you hate yourself too? I thought I was the only one!" Solomon gasped melodramatically. Suddenly, Veera struck. "Oh, I suppose we're starting the fight already? I didn't even get to do an introduction" The first blow was easily parried by Aaron's steel sword, however when the female witcher summoned a blast of fire the zombie stumbled out of the way, only just avoiding it. This left him at a disadvantage as Veera went to slice across his chest. Aaron didn't even bother to avoid the attack, and the steel cut straight through the black robes and the pale skin beneath. The wound seemed, however, as if it hardly affected the undead witcher at all, as he immediately went in for a strike of his own, stabbing straight towards Veera's own chest. Aaron began an unrelenting assault, with stab after stab aimed straight at Veera's heart, giving her very little opportunity to fight back. The gash across his chest slowly oozed a black, syrupy blood. While the clash of blades went on, Solomon turned to the mage. "Witcher versus witcher, mage versus mage? Seems only fair" he said, as began to circle his staff in the air. Dark energy accumulated and swirled around the skull atop Solomon's staff, before tendrils of darkness eventually began to snake their way towards the young mage.

The Abomination​

Meanwhile, the abomination outside was having a lot of fun. It stumbled around in what it thought were graceful movements as it played with the weird small creatures. One of them was on its back, another few were by his feet. The abomination wanted to dance. It waved its arms around, grabbing for the figure on its back. the figure scrambled around, being very uncooperative. The abomination would show it how to have fun. It brought the creature in front of it, and a gash opened up in its grotesque chest, revealing a horrific maw made from a thousand different teeth and claws. It seemed to smile and chuckle deeply, an action that contrasted the groans of the various faces from all the bodies stitched together to form this horrific homonculus. Suddenly it hurt. It hurt a lot. It howled in pain as fire burned at its clammy skin. Thrashing, the beast managed to extinguish the flame, but part of its amalgam leg has been charred and it was clearly injured. In the chaos, its plaything had slipped out of its grasp. It no longer wanted to dance. It wanted to crush.

Prince Vyle Blackwing, the Night Hunter​

Vyle saw a looming hand approach as he struggled to keep his grip on the top of the monster, He tried to scrabble away but found himself crushed in the grip of the beast's fleshy hand, made from an assortment of corpses. Cursing, he struggled against the beast. He should have transformed, or gone invisible, or done anything. Now he was in a position where he was sure only his superhuman strength was keeping him from being crushed into vampire juice. As the beast opened its horrible maw Vyle was certain he was going to get eaten, how ironic. A man who'd spent his life feeding on humans, dying in the stomach of a creature made from hundreds of them. This wasn't how he wanted to go. If he was going to die today it had to be some kind of noble sacrifice, or at least at the hands of Solomon himself. Not this oversized minion. Suddenly the creature howled in pain and its grip weakened, allowing Vyle to slip out of its bloated hands and land gracefully on the ground. Fire seemed to hurt the creature, but they couldn't rely on only Ana, as strong as she was he had a feeling that the creature would carry on until it was nothing but ash, if it had to.

Willow Duskstrider, The Widowmaker​

Willow watched the beast carefully. She'd retreated slightly by now and observed the newcomer's sword strikes also being ineffective. The fire injured it, but not enough. They had to deal with the creature quickly, lest it create too many casualties. They needed as many people on their side as possible, Solomon still had an undead army. From her observations the creature seemed to possess some kind of sentience, it was more than a mere shambling minion. On the one hand this made it more difficult to deal with; it could learn, it could act with some level of intelligence. On the other hand, every sentient creature had one weakness, some kind of control centre, a brain. Welp. Here goes nothing. Willow ran towards the creature and, as it howled in pain, scrambled up its body and leaped into its mouth.

Zavarius Boldhorn, The Monster Slayer​

Zavarius was wary. From the way he spoke and acted, this creature could be an ordinary citizen of the Northern Kingdoms, but the hunter was sure he was not. "Yes, you will have to evacuate this city, but if you do accept the offer we have other places you could stay in peace" despite himself, Zavarius felt himself slipping into how he would talk in any political scenario, he had to remind himself that this person was aberrant, they were not the same. "The Hierarch's Palace in Novigrad, If I'm not there you can talk to any of the king's other advisors. I will, however, need your name..." Zavarius hesitated for a moment and peered over the strange man "You do have a name, right?"

 

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Ana's heart skipped a beat as the creature roared, and then seemed to stop completely as it wrapped it's grimy hands, whatever they were made from, around Vyle. Instead of panicking, she poured more of her energy into the fire that roared at the monster's feet, searching for a way up its body, a way to feed on the rotting flesh that made her stomach roll. But bodies that hadn't been dried weren't easy to burn without a second substance, like oil, that would combust and help to create food for the flame. She felt a brief wave of dizziness as the magic sapped the energy from her body, but shook it off and stepped back, keeping free of the swinging hands before pressing her palms together. Whispering the ancient words, she pulled her left from her right hand, a flaming sword hanging in the balance between the two hands. Gripping the hilt with her fingers, feeling the warmth and spirit of the fire crackle under her skin, she smiled grimly before shoving the fiery blade into the creature's leg.

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Veera barely batted an eye at Solomon's words, her mind completely focused on the battle now. On the enemy in front of her. No matter what Aaron was now, he needed to be put down. And she was the one who would have to do it. She didn't allow herself to feel triumph as one of her hits manage to land on the zombie witcher, because she suspected how futile it was. And how quickly he recovered only proved her right. She was barely quick enough to block his attacks, one after another and another. It seemed relentless, it was relentless.

Her eye twitched as one of his attacks sliced across her arm, opening the skin and causing blood to flow down her arm, dripping to the floor as she riposted around the zombie, her breath coming in steady, controlled breaths. For now. Aaron appeared to have enhanced abilities attained after his death; in life he had never been this closely matched to her own skills. And when your enemy couldn't die, then how could you hope to win? Noticing that Solomon had decided to take on Kruez, hoping her cell mate could hold his own, she lashed out again, stepping past her own defense to try and cut into Aaron's leg.

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Tessa blinked at Sigmund's words, before squeezing her hands gently, out of reflex. "Just like that? You'll take us with, just like that? What's the catch?" She asked as he began to prepare...whatever magical ritual this was. Tessa had grown up among dopplers, not mages. She had heard stories of their capabilities, but never seen them in person. Not until the massacre in Oxenfurt, and even that had been brief. And she supposed, where there were good powers, responsible people who made sure their gifts did good things, there had to be people on the opposite end of the spectrum as well.

"What's the catch?" She asked once more, her pale eyes narrowed as she took a step back.

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Alyse tensed once more as the stranger spoke. Or perhaps she had never relaxed in the first place. "Alyse. Dare I ask yours?" She didn't bother introducing Sweallow, that wasn't her prerogative. First name was friendly enough, something to establish common ground, conversation if need be, but it didn't give him something to track her, and it didn't give the stranger enough of an opening through the door to which he might feel welcomed. Alyse didn't let people in. Ever. The one person she trusted had already been present in her life before she had put the walls up. You could say the walls surrounded Ana just as much as they did Alyse. Safer that way, and less of a chance to be hurt.

 

The Hunter told him that he had some time to weigh his options on whether or not he should join this King or not. Saying his palace was in the city of Novigrad. Tobias was then asked for his name. "I do have a name, my name is Tobias, simply Tobias." What he didn't say was that it was only one of the many monnikers he had and the only man that had known the true name was dead now. "You shall hear from me, Hunter, good luck with the hunt." Tobias said as he went back to preparing to move out of the city.

The woman introduced herself as Alyse and asked him his name again, an odd thing as he had introduced himself when he came over. Either she hadn't heard him or already forgotten, either way it didn't matter too much. "My name's Alastar, pleased to meet you." He said in a friendly tone holding out his hand to shake hers. The other bloke hadn't introduced himself yet, not that it mattered too much. He took a sip from his drink. "I apologise for looking like an animal, I've been on the road for a long time." He explained to his new drinking companions, it was true, he didn't look like the average city person who atleast took a bit of care of themselves. "So what brings you here?" He asked, once again in the friendly tone.

As Sigmund started to focus his concentration was broken by Tessa who clearly hadn't listened to his instructions, however he still managed to manifest the portal, albeit taking a bit longer and more of his power than it did normally thanks to the broken concentration. When he had manifested it he turned to Tessa. "Had I not asked you to allow me to concentrate?" He asked her, only light undertones of anger in his voice. "As for a catch, you shall be travelling with me. To a location of safety where no Lord holds jurisdiction as I was on my way there anyways. It is merely a coincidence but a convenient one at that." Sigmund said, then turning towards the discussion between Seth and Mathilda. "Seth, that is enough... Mathilda, if you need help I can help you and your brothers out of the city too." Sigmund said as he gestured to the glowing orange portal.

The maid smiled and in a friendly tone said "Oh you're not inconveniencing me at all. I'd be happy to help you." Then the guest spoke up and Master Sigmund mixed into the conversation prompting the maid to go back to her chores, feeling all was being taken care of.

 

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The match up had been set. While Veera was to deal with the undead Aaron, Kruez was to deal with the necromancer himself. Whether this was to be good fortune or not he wasn't sure, but it was the hand he was dealt and there was no other options but to play it. In an instant after Solomon had made the first move Kruez reacted by taking a quick step back to increase the distance between them as well as calling forth of his personal weapon of choice. The gun engraved with a '0' in his left hand was used to take out the approaching tendrils before they could become more of an issue. The other other weapon was a similar looking gun, the primary difference being the 'IV' engraving on it. This one was aimed directed at Solomon and once the trigger was pulled, a blast of lightning was launched towards the necromancer.

 

Solomon, The Deathbringer​

The mage boy used some strange weapons, odd things which shot forth projectiles. No matter. The first gun was ineffective, the bullets passed harmlessly through the shadowy tendrils and they snaked ever closer to their target. However, the second gun struck next. The lightning arced towards him, searing the air with its sheer energy. Solomon simply watched the thunderbolt, unable to respond in time, and was sent stumbling backwards as the magic struck him. The shadowy tendrils were dispelled as his concentration lapsed. Solomon quickly got back to his feet and laughed maniacally. The pain, the pain in his chest burned so much. The lightning had sent tingles all through his body, it hurt to move as the electricity cramped his muscles. But it was better than feeling nothing. "Interesting weapons of choice, but you won't be able to do that again" Solomon commented. Tapping his staff on the floor he summoned a wall of undead minions which crawled up from below the ground. They had no weapons and they were barely holding together, but there were a lot of them and they stood side by side in front of their master, protecting him from any more bullets which may approach. That done, he raised his staff once more and continued the onslaught of shadows, cloudy tendrils of darkness encroaching ever closer to their prey.

Undead Aaron​

Aaron didn't notice the black blood seeping from his wounds, he didn't notice the muscles in his arms and legs aching with effort. He was empowered by necromantic magic and sheer force of emotion. Biologically speaking, zombies shouldn't be able to move. They certainly shouldn't be able to fight like Aaron was right now. Once a body had died its muscles and cells deteriorated almost instantly. Even with a soul restored, it shouldn't be able to do anything. Necromancy was not just putting a soul back into a body. Necromancy was giving that body the sheer willpower to overcome physical restrictions. Therefore necromancers must be passionate about something, have an endless supply of one emotion, an emotion which they can pass on to all the bodies they ressurrect, an emotion with enough power to cause someone to do the impossible, to come back to life. Solomon had an emotion like that, an emotion which he had poured into Aaron's body excessively, that he'd drilled into the lost soul's mind.

Hatred.

Solomon hated everything. And all that hatred, all that built up rage and defiance against everything alive, was fuelling his undead army. In the back of Aaron's soul he remembered Solomon speaking to him, indoctrinating him, making him hate everything, especially Solomon himself. The absolute hatred that Aaron felt for Solomon encompassed his entire body and soul, and the fact that he couldn't fight back against the necromancer's control only inflamed his anger. All that resentment and spite, enhanced by dark magic, was making Aaron stronger than he'd ever been in life. Aaron didn't need to be graceful in this fight, his body could hold out against almost anything Veera could do, all he had to do was be relentless. Veera brought down her guard as she lashed towards Aaron's leg, and he took the opportunity to strike back at her, not bothering to defend himself. His blade slashed into her side as her blade cut into his leg. The wound he inflicted was not deep and would not kill the witcher, but would impair her, the wound he sustained would have been far graver had he still been alive. The zombie was almost brought his knees by the attack, but his leg held up strong, though he wouldn't be moving anywhere fast. Aaron went in for another heck at the other witcher. "Solomon..." the zombie croaked, his anger bringing words out unintentionally "... I HATE Solomon!"

The Abomination​

The abomination was also feeling rage and hatred, especially against the people who were currently trying to burn it alive. As the witcher cast signs of fire at it, and the mage spewed an inferno from her hands, its legs started to grow weak. It roared from its massive grotesque mouth, barely staying upright, as it swung towards the attackers. When the mage struck it with a sword of fire though, it fell to its knees.

Willow Duskstrider​

Ew. Ew ew ew. Eeewwwwww. Willow had been many places in her life, but never before had she been inside an undead abomination made from an entire graveyard's worth of corpses. she crawled and slashed her way through, black blood dripping onto her clothes and skin. It was truly quite horrible. Suddenly she found what she was after. Squinting through the dimness, she could see a coagulated mash of organ tissue, some kind of brain. Squirming her way through the creature she reached it and plunged one of her daggers straight into the organ. The reaction was immediate. A short roar bellowed from the creature and it began to shake as it fell down. Willow was almost crushed inside the creature, but at the last moment ripped a tear in its clammy flesh and leaped out, as the creature was felled. She looked back for a moment. The creature had began to sag and made no more noise, it just slowly leaked a black syrupy blood. The Assassin, still disguised as a witcher turned back to the group. A sinister smile slowly crept across her face, before she turned and walked towards the main castle.

Prince Vyle Blackwind, The Night Hunter​

Vyle watched as the abomination fell and the strange woman leaped out of it in a splash of black blood. He carefully wiped away a bit of the gore from his coat, then looked around to make sure there weren't any other dangers. Finally, he turned to Ana with a concerned, and slightly exhausted, expression. "Are you alright to carry on? The battle is hardly over"

 

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Teliana paused as the witcher attacked, unsure at first, and perhaps a little wary. She had forgotten for one deadly second that they too carried some small amounts of magic; nothing that would deter her own, but enough to do damage. He was not the only one to join the fray, as it turned out. She cast her energy into one of her favorite spells, creating the sword of fire that she thrust into the monster, her stomach twisting as she fully inhaled the rotten smell that followed it. As soon as the creature dropped to its knees she rolled away, taking a moment to retch behind a conveniently placed pair of bushes before regaining control over her body and bouncing back to her feet, hands once more filled with fire.

It seemed they were no longer needed, as the strange woman who had followed them danced around the monster before plunging a dagger into its back. The creature screamed, or more accurately, roared before it fell to the ground. Relief seeped through her body as she took a moment to wrap an errant strand of hair back behind her ear before looking for their allies. Everyone seemed to have come out in decent shape; Vyle was striding towards her now, the ever present look of concern on his face even as he asked her if she was alright. Really, just because she felt like a broken doll didn't mean he needed to treat her like one. And hadn't she just proved herself worthy of a little respect, helping to fell the creature that stupid mage had conjured?

Relax. It's concern, not coddling. Teliana took a deep breath before raking her fingers through her hair, mussing it and returning the wayward strands to their place in front of her eyes, where they were both distracting and irritating. She gave up trying to put them back, and gave a half hearted smile. "Ready as ever." Something was bothering her though, and it wasn't her companion's attitude. She let her eyes wander back to Zephyr, then to the witcher, narrowing slightly there. He wasn't one she had come across, in her memory, but he looked experienced, and she didn't judge him to be a simple trainee or a boy fresh off the monster killer farm. Then her eyes glided to the woman, the second witcher. Neither he or her had called out, so they didn't know each other. But then, Teliana wasn't friendly with all mages either, or know even half of those that walked this earth. Still....
Pausing, she grabbed Vyle's arm as goosebumps rippled her skin. "I don't believe that woman is a witcher. She didn't use a sword to kill that monster. I haven't seen her use one at all, or even magic, as the man did. Something's not right here." Ana wished that would be enough to stop them from carrying on, from walking into a possible trap, but Vyle could never leave, not again.

"Just...don't turn your back on her, alright?" She asked softly before walking a short distance behind the woman, towards the castle. It was time to finish what had started, ever so long ago.

​

Veera was tiring. She had been tiring for a long time, now that she looked back on it. This world and its troubles were exhausting. The people were exhausting. Everything was an effort. Why did she do it? Veceslav's face flashed in front of her, the wrinkles on his face and the grey in his hair clearer then the enemy in front of her. The hallucination disappeared when Aaron's sword bit into her flesh, causing her to step back, trying to escape the pain and the attack in one move while defend herself from any follow up. She grimaced, disappointed that she had let herself be distracted by regret, when that same guilt was the reason she stood here, in this predicament.

It was easy to forget she wasn't alone. A short distance away, she caught sight of Solomon summoning more of his cursed undead. Had the man slaughtered half the country to get this far? Another mark against her soul, or whatever was left of it. But she would make amends for it now, on this day. Turning back to Aaron, reluctantly leaving Kruez to sort out the enemy mage, she side stepped to avoid the other attack, her injuries slowing her down. Still, she managed to avoid incurring more as Aaron tried to speak.

What had previously been a human voice, smooth with youth, was now grated, a struggle to understand as much as it was to speak. Veera supposed that while the vocal cords weren't the first to decay, they did have a low life expectancy after the blood stopped flowing. Still, the undead witcher made his point clear, and his words struck Veera at her core. Jolted, she paused for a moment, her legs trembling. "I know." She whispered, her hand clenching the sword that her fingers were wrapped tightly around. "I wish I could hate him. But I can't." It's too exhausting. "You have to let go, Aaron. You have to stop letting him control you. Only then can I set you free, where you belong."

 

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When his first attack did nothing Kruez wasn't surprised, in fact he was preparing to increase the space between them when his lightning attack had struck it's target. The tendrils had vanished, followed by an insane laugh from Solomon. His grip briefly tightened on his weapon as the wall of undead appeared before the necromancer along with the tendrils. Getting in close wasn't the best of options given the circumstances, plus Kruez was better from afar anyway. To deal with the situation before him, Kruez decided to make a slight change to his current weaponry. Allowing magic to flow into his guns, the numbers on them changed. The one on the left changed to a 'I' and the right one turned to a 'III'. The 'III' engraved gun was aimed towards the the encroaching tendril and fired a spray of ice that would freeze them in place. The other one fired a roar of flames towards the undead meat (and that is used loosely) shield. His attack wasn't expected to rid of the issue right away, but with any luck it would provide an opening for him to use.

In the interest of time and plot progession as well as Moksha being tired, Sweallow gave his name to the man who had asked.

 

~Locked due to inactivity for over a month.
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~Staff​