The youth was a witness once more, biding his time away from assaulting his own tree (he knew it wasn’t really Enna, but the way it wielded and molded and shaped itself into her likeness was unsettling, and if he ignored it for a time, perhaps it wouldn’t remind him of too many things), stare fleeting on each subject. Albrecht appeared to dismiss his disapproval, maybe he’d heard it all before, but the boy wouldn’t relent so easily – he’d ensure the phantom was watched (because if he’d committed such an act on one of his own, what had he done before the rest of the world?). Orsino almost laughed at the inquiry floating through the prince’s head, and Erebos shoved it down alongside so many other potent thoughts and feelings, trying to forgo the eerie sense of slippery slopes and grating scales.
 
But there was nothing this time from Albrecht; not a lofty incantation cast at a herd member, not a set of teeth brandished from some other creature, not a momentous swing of unrelenting speed or refinement. The General watched as he seemed to grow distraught, limbs flailing, bellowing, and then the elder stag manifested into a buckling nuance, a shattering mess, an audible pop crashing through the sounds of wooden branches creaking and diving. Erebos’ eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, coiling a feral command through he and the sable kitsune’s bond with a voracious Stop, and the fox rolled his eyes but did as he was instructed. The tree ceased movement and motion altogether, frozen with a few boughs hanging perilously, cracked and splintered from Albrecht’s abrupt bucks. A modicum of concern centered through the gallant portion of the scion, heart beating a little faster, worried that perhaps he’d pushed too hard, too far, and this truly would be all for naught, shouting over the horizon, down towards the cloak and daggered thief. “Do you require a healer?” They could end this all swiftly; he could send Orsino for one of the Menders, patch him together again, wonder why on earth he’d even bothered (and if this would be a monumental screw-up, a mistake, a blunder, poised aloft on his head well before he’d even had a chance to become something other than a nameless figure).
 
Then Beloved began her assault, and he had to turn to seize her moment too. Her irritation bubble and fumed, brewed and pervaded, tangible amidst the wild, savage winds of beckoning trees and savage saplings, but her laughter was still there, still vivid, still eerie. Even as apprehension seared along the roots of her motions (maybe she’d never been assaulted by images and illusions, by the wake of so many moving tyrannies), she still didn’t give in (and that earned her a brilliant grin across his youthful face, boyish and exuberant, almost daring to cheer her on). The pulse of her warrior invocations blurred across the ground, reverberating, pulsing, and the maneuvering saplings couldn’t stand any longer, forced to fumble along twisted roots and gnarled footholds, faltering in place and then descending altogether, falling to the ground without a thud or thump. “Nicely done!” He yelled, not mocking, not searing, only simmering in a rush of triumph for her methods, plots, and schemes.
 
It was his turn thereafter, and he swallowed down the bile clasping over his throat, not looking at the sapling structure of Enna. Instead, he rummaged down deep into his soul, pulled at the strings of a rugged madness lingering in the nefarious depths, in the vicious condemnation, in the roll of undulating fury, and contorted it towards her likeness. He didn’t even spare a glance, couldn’t dare, couldn’t dream of it, as the wave of anger and fury bore down upon it (at Orsino for provoking him in such a way, at the sentiments of failure still clinging around him). It crumbled and folded away on a wisp of spring air, echoing with a silent cry, a haunting cry (How could you?) he knew Orsino had conjured from some poignant dream, gnashing his teeth, grinding his jaw, striding away from the ruined spot, ensuring everything came to a close before he flickered apart.
 
“Congratulations,” he boasted from the grounds, as if everything had been a rousing success and their meeting hadn’t been a dying ember, between Arion’s silence, Albrecht’s wounds, and Beloved’s faltering at her own comrade’s incantations. It’d been a learning curve, a starting point, at the very least, and now that he understood their skills, perhaps he had a chance to enlighten them, guide them, and provide them with a pathway down to refinement in bloodshed, in abomination, in protection and annihilation. From his mane, twisting his neck to take it out of one of his black locks, he produced a single moon amulet, a beautiful, darkened sphere born from the deity of shadows and soullessness, holding it between his teeth and tongue. “For you,” he presented to Beloved, reaching it out across to the ivory she-devil, infusing it with a coating of his nefarious magic, brandishing the lacquer of corruption and devastation until the vessel seemed to have its fill; devouring and holding it until Beloved felt the need to utilize its cunning and potency. “A reward for completing your task and trials without failure.” He nodded, dropping it at her feet with a roguish grin and a delighted snicker, too much Cheshire in the wings of hollowed outlooks. Then he turned, trying to encompass them all, dying to ascertain where they’d go next and how they were to grow from here, bobbing his head, bowing to their presence, noble words echoed along his mouth. “Thank you for participating. It was intriguing to see your skills – and now, we can begin to hone them.”




[Thank you for coming!!!! Beloved is rewarded with a moon amulet with Erebos' corruption magic stored inside for completing each round. :D

Stay tuned for our next warrior meeting! -bows-]

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in