833/Of Sorcerors And Elves

Of Sorcerors And Elves
Date of Scene:	20 October 2014
Location:	Middle Earth
Synopsis:	Lezard Valeth comes to Mirkwood to seek out Elves to find research specimens. He finds a lot more than he expects, as Bahamut moves to protect Mirkwood alongside Thranduil, and Wuyin Tsai seeks to profit from the chaos...
Cast of Characters:	Wuyin Tsai, Bahamut, 592, Lezard Valeth

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Lezard Valeth has posed:
The lands of Mirkwood are thick and dim, with the shadow of dark times and darker minds looming over the boughs. In these dark days where the ancient power of Morder seems to stir again, the Wood Elves, the Sindaran, work to defend their borders from both the numerous incursions of the cruel orcs and goblins which infest the nearby regions, as well as the shades which haunt Dol Guldur. And even still, other threats lurk under the sunless places.

Such it is that a human approaches the land of Mirkwood, soaring over the boughs on a foul flying creature. Clad in the colors of earth and darkness, the young man lands in a small gap, settling upon the thick undergrowth as the shrieking harpy curls upon itself next to him, coming to a moments rest.

The young man looks up at the boughs, inhaling slowly and deeply, as if savoring the bleak and foreboding area. "Fascinating." He says, simply, and adjusts his glasses. "These woods positively /reek/ of magic." He speaks as if he is talking to another. Surely the foul harpy beside him is not his conversational partner?

"This will be enjoyable. Let us begin!"

He throws out his hands, and begins to incant words of Power. Waves of dark energy emanate from around his feet, roaring around him with an upwelling of force. His words echo throughout the boughs, a new magic spreading through the area as he works his methods. No subtle Elven turning of nature is this; but a dark and terrible invocation.

"I am he who hath entrusted his soul to the eternal vortex of time. Ye know me! And if ye do not, ye shall be made to know me. It shall be engraved on thy very soul; Lezard Valeth! If ye shall accept the brand of Hel upon thee, thy sanctions shall in turn be lowered. I shall grant thee the deliverance of thy soul, and ye shall come now before me!"

As he speaks, his magics reach out, calling up the spirits and shades of the departed. Webs part and bones rattle as the undead begin to rise up. Many of them are crude and brittle, but Mirkwood has claimed many an unwary soul.

The Necromancer throws out a hand. "Go forth. Find the Elves. Bring them alive if you can, or their corpses if you cannot, I do not care." With that command, the lesser undead and spirits begin to swarm, spreading through the trees in search of the commanded prey.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     There are many cries from the boughs as the Silvan Elves slide and swing down to the ground. They run toward the path leading to the Halls of The Elvenking, some of them hanging back to try and pick off any of the undead they can, some being captured.

     The ones on the path leap nimbly over the obstacles in their way, trying to get word to the Elvenking as quickly as possible. This isn't just an outsider coming into their woods, this is someone trying to do something. Whomever this is, he wants to /hurt/ them. The flock of Nandor slow and turn back with their weapons, to see if they are being followed. If they are being followed, they would let loose a rain of arrows, chattering amongst themselves in Elvish.

     One scout manages to get to the Halls of The Elvenking before the others, warning them of an oncoming attack. Thranduil rises from his throne and looks slightly aghast, pointing with his oaken staff toward the bowels of the kingdom. "All who are not soldiers are required to retreat into the lower levels and take refuge. All warriors are to come with me, prepare for battle."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
The dark things rising within Mirkwood are not the only intruders within Elven lands. They are, however, an excellent cover for a more subtle trespasser.

Wuyin lurks, slinking through the trees towards the rough location of the Elven holdings. He's traded his hoodie for a dark blue coat layered with brown leather and bearing a short mantle -- something somewhat more appropriate to the environs -- and moves with smooth steps across dense, twisting branches. The natural creatures in Mirkwood don't seem to notice him, or if they do, they don't seem bothered by his presence; there's something reassuring about a defender of Gaia to most simple beasts.

'Find the Elves, and take from them something precious.' His instructions were vague but pointed. His actions would have consequences, though they may not be immediately seen. He certainly didn't know precisely what would happen.

That, though, is sort of the fun of it.

With a charm in leather and bone and anointed in blood wrapped around his wrist, Wuyin keeps moving inward. Though his steps are quiet, he cannot match an Elf for stealth... but the subtle misdirection of the charm, warding against casual detection, works in his favor. Still, he hardly expects to get in and out without a fight. Maybe he can use whatever else is rising up nearby in his favor.

Bahamut has posed:
     As Lezard finishes his invocation and the undead start to work their way through the forest, there is a powerful roar from somewhere deep within. Those unholy creatures that make it to the bridge separating Thranduil's gates from the forest would find the way barred by a large humanoid dragon. Fire, thunder, water, and other spells decimate those that near it, and those that make it to the bridge would face the razor sharp teeth and claws of Bahamut.

     There is not much room for a large dragon to maneuver in here, so it is rather lucky that Bahamut happened to be in the clearing at the entrance to the Elven city. Of course, this means he cannot pursue anything into the forest. He can only serve as a slashing, snarling, spell-slinging wall between the elves and the undead creatures. "Whoever you are! Call off your vile minions or you will face the wrath of Bahamut, King of dragons and Aeon of Bevelle! This is your only warning!"

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The lesser undead are not exceptionally powerful, but this is a world protected by steel and will. Some of the lesser undead are cut down by the arrows of the elves. Some prove more resilient. Bone, after all, has nothing to puncure. But blade and mace prove effective in their own ways....

Those who are taken, alive or dead, are dragged back before the Sorceror, whom looks down upon the elves with a smile. "Excellent. You pitiful vessels will serve as an excellent specimen." He holds out a hand, and begins to incant again, a circle of power slowly forming around them. What is he going to do with the captives and the fallen?

Perhaps the valiant Thranduil and his elven warriors will have to come find out.

Unfortunately, there are unforeseen difficulties. Lezard looks up, a scowl crossing his face as he hears the bellowed challenge of Bahamut. "Indeed? King of the dragons, you say... Let us see how well you fare against one of your own kind!"

The circle fades arouns the elven captives as he changes his focus. A large circle forms, a dark, massive shape forming within...

The undead form up at the edges of the clearing before the city, holding back. Why? Surely they need to press the advantage of speed and surprise to hold any chance against the staunch Elven defenders...

A foul wind blows through Mirkwood then, a massive shape moving through the trees. A terrible stench of rot and decay sloughs forward like a wave over the Elven front lines, an ill wind that bears no one good. A tree groans, creaking and shattering... And ryrs burn red with dark malevolence as the thing slumps into the light.

It must have been majestic at one time, but now it is nothing more than a carcass of rot and terror, blight made manifest in the form of a massive cartiligenous mass of draconic putresence. The bones are intact, patchy scaly flesh and organs hanging off of it. Wherever it passes, a poisonous slime is left behind. Its breath stinks of darkness and evil.

And it rears back, bellowing a hollow response to Bahamut's challenge. As one, the undead move to strike with the dragon, heedless of the terrific casualties that will assuredly mount upon their side.

For what do the dead care if they die again?

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil rides out upon his majestic Elk, carrying his swords at his sides. Hundreds...no /thousands/ of Silvan Elves pour out of another exit from the kingdom and descend upon Lezard's forces. "Who are you and why have you attacked our realm?" The King asks, coming to a stop a distance away from the necromantic action. He is the first to strike, dismounting his Elk and starting to swing his dual swords, cutting through any undead he can get to with Elvish Fury.

     Wuyin is not noticed just yet, but if things go sideways and the gates are breached, he might be able to claim his prize afterall.

     Bahamut is spotted and the Elves are taken aback at first but then remember he is an ally and don't aim their bows at him. The rest begin unfurling a rain of arrows at the undead, trying to protect their king.

Bahamut has posed:
     Bahamut blinks as he hears that thrashing and crunching in the forest. Well, at least he'll have room to move after the dead dragon gets here. "You will never defeat me with your undead abominations!" Bahamut bellows. He tries to draw as much attention as he can to give the elves a chance to strike from the shadows. And, since the dragon has presumably already cleared the path behind itself of any elves, Bahamut takes the opportunity to use one of his most powerful weapons.

     Mega Flare.

     The Aeon backflips, landing on all fours, then firmly plants each limb before opening his mouth. The gyro on his back starts to spin more and more quickly, energy crackles over it then over his form before it starts to concentrate in front of his mouth. It takes only a few moments to charge before Bahamut unleases a beam as thick as himself. Pure energy is fired straight along the path the undead dragon followed to him, stretching several hundred feet beyond it into the forest, threatening to disintegrate everything in the path of the energy beam. Lesser undead are swept aside by the beam, and the great corrupted beast before Bahamut no doubt bursts into flames as the energy saturates it.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin does what Dragon do (second) best: he lurks.

A humanoid shape in the trees not far from the gates goes unnoticed. To most, it seems to be an odd twist of wood, a slight marring in the otherwise-pleasant treeline. Elites are less-easily fooled. It's not that he's invisible so much as he is actively dismissible. Why focus your attention there? There are /so/ many more interesting things to look at. No no, don't look...

Bahamut engages the undead dragon with a display of raw force and fury. Wuyin feels his grip tighten on the branch beneath him. His breath catches, and he forces himself to let it go, untensing his fingers and putting himself into motion. He keeps above the throng of armed elves, creeping past while they fight the encroaching dead.

There's a little buzz across his ear, like an annoyed insect just flew past. He resists the urge to swat at it.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Invisible currents of Power swirl around Lezard as he works his magics, working to support his undead minions from the rear as the battle is joined. Elven arrows launch through the air, raining soft and deadly upon a sweeping flock of stinking harpies, the skeletons, zombies, and shades. There is a dull thud, and a burst of air many of them are swept away. Lezard flicks a hand, and with a ripple of space, a large book manifests over one hand, the pages turning seemingly of their own will. There is no title inscribed upon the tome, for it needs none. The proper owner knows what knowledge it bears. "A stiffer resistance than your brethren of my world. I am almost impressed!" Lezard states, and draws a gemmed staff from within his cloak, he gestures with the ruby-tipped implement, weaving the elements together even as Bahamut begins to breathe his terrible power.
    The Mega Flare strikes, sizzling power smashing through the undead and searing many of them into shadow and ash. The Dragon Zombie, however, is made of sterner stuff. The beam punches a gory hole through the beast, but it keeps moving, aflame but showing no pain as it lunges, lurrching to grapple with the Aeon. A terrible shriek rends the air, shattering it before the maw of the beast as its very voice becomes a killing force... but for Bahmut, the greater concern are the blighted claws and rotten teeth it seeks to sink into those beautiful scales.

"You did not hear my name? A pity." He adjusts his glasses. "A majestic piece you make, King. For you are a King, I presume? Please, allow me to introduce myself. I am Lezard Valeth, a humble alchemist." He gives a mocking, sweeping bow to the Elf-King as he looks up, smiling as he works to chop his way through the undead. His skill is unmatched, as is the courage of his warriors, but even though the resurrected bones cannot stand for long aginst the battle-hardened forces of the Wood Elves, there is something that none could have planned for.

"If you believe that is the extent of my abilitiy, you will find that you are sorely mistaken." He levels the scepter at the attacking Elven forces. "PRISMATIC MISSILE!" A multicolored blast of light sears outwards in innumerable streamers, the colored beams raining down and sizzling into the Elven forces in a rain of his own. Much like other, similarly named spells in other words, the touch of the light seems to impart deletrious effects. Some might find themselves poisoned. Others paralyzed, or blind, or even the unfortunate ones turned to stone for a while... Provided they are not killed outright.

"You are elves, are you not?" Lezard exmplains idly in the meantime. "Such beings are /wonderful/ specimens for my research. In my land, they are called vessels of the Gods. I look forward to seeing if the same holds true with your variant."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil staggers a bit when he sees the undead dragon, but keeps trying to cut through the undead. When Lezard unleashes the missiles, he shields his eyes, then looks back to Lezard. "I am Thranduil, king of the woodland realm." He tries to sound as confident and strong as he normally does, even though he is extremely confused. "We are Elves, but not of your world." He spins around and watches helplessly as his soldiers are turned to stone, and many more blinded or afflicted in other ways. "No," He whispers, then turns back to swinging his swords with anger. "Stop the other outsider, I will handle this wretched Lizard."

Bahamut has posed:
     Bahamut roars again as he clashes with the decaying dragon. His claws meet the claws of the other, rending rotting flesh and bone even as his own scales are cut into by those no doubt disease-riddled talons of the undead dragon. "Strong, persistent. I would be impressed. If I were not so disgusted." Bahamut says to the dragon and its controller. He is about to fire another spell when Thranduil calls out about another intruder.

     Bahamut blinks. "What other outsider?" Bahamut says, far too busy trying not to be killed by something dead to notice someone sneaking into the elven capitol. Bahamut attempts to push the undead dragon back, and unleashes a blast of Firaga to give himself some breathing room. The powerful fire spell explodes like an incendiary bomb on the other dragon, then Bahamut spreads his wings and in a single flap is in the air, scanning for the other outsider.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Watching dragons and zombies and elves fight is pretty fun, but not /really/ the purpose of this exercise. Wuyin moves on.

He's on the ground at this point. When he hears people mention 'the other outsider,' he exhales a quiet sigh and nearly abandons stealth altogether. There's a moment where he collects himself, one hand falling to the effigy on his belt --

*flicker*

-- and he vanishes, bypassing a cluster of elven defenders and appearing on the far side of the gate. It, frankly, doesn't do him much good while there are so many of them... and with Bahamut in the air, he might catch sight of a man-sized shape that is strangely difficult to keep focus on moving towards the interior at a dead sprint.

If he's going to fight a dragon, he's going to do it indoors.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The Elven King wisely does not engage the massive and rotting Dragon. Though who is to say what is wise aor foolish in this case? Lezard frowns. These Elves are poving to be far more resilient. Almost as if... A smile draws across his face as a thought occurs to him. "You have survived many battles, have you not, Elf-King? Your people are hardened. This is excellent. There will be no weakness in these samples."

The undead seem to still be as intent on bringin Lezard the fallen or the captured Elves, adding to the group near him even as time passes. It is inefficient, and the Elves deal teriffic damage to the swarming forces, cutting down many of them for each of their own. But for Elves, even that is a tragedy, is it not?

Even as the forces of the minor undead grind and clash with the Elves, the massive Dragon Zombie is blasted with a ball of flame, dislodged from the King of Dragons and sent collapsing into a flaming heap. One might think it would be enough to destroy the beast... But he is not so lucky. There is a low rumble, and a deadly, bubbling exhalation, as a wave of miasma washes upwards in a plague-wind towards Bahamut. Even if the King may not perish from such a thing, it certainly couldn't be pleasant.

In the meantime, if Lezard is insulted from being called a Lizard, he shows no sign. "Do you truly believe you can stand against my magic? Very well! Open the gates of Niflheim, more souls await!" He stands there, laughing even as Thranduil cleaves through the ranks with his passionage rage and skill, rending open a large gap with his blades. Bone and long-decayed flesh shatter before him, leaving his path clear.

But if that's the case, why is Lezard still smiling?

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil just hasn't gotten to the undead dragon yet! His long hair whips around him as he fights. He has indeed seen many battles, though a lot of the younger Silvan Elves have not. "I will drive you from these woods myself, foul creature. You and the rest of your undead filth." He tries to find Bahamut to see whether or not he's still alive, sweeping out his arms, the blades made during the First Age shining despite having cleaved through so many undead. He pauses just a moment to catch his breath and assess his situation. That could perhaps be a bad idea. "I saw another, or rather sensed it," He answers Bahamut, eyes searching for Wuyin.

Bahamut has posed:
     "I see him!" Bahamut bellows from above the bridge. Just before he is engulfed in poisonous miasma. He roars as the burn of poison fills his lungs, but he ignores the undead dragon. "Thranduil! The other intruder is inside the walls! I cannot pursue without damaging the city!" Even so, he is not simply going to let Wuyin disappear into the elven halls. He dives into the city, trying to avoid damage as much as possible, but aiming to land right in front of Wuyin and send him stumbling back.

     Bahamut roars at Wuyin and brandishes his claws, using his bulk to block the doorway if at all possible. "Whoever you are, you are not elven. Retreat now, and you will not experience the sharpness of my claws, nor the strength of my spells."

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin takes about six strides before he runs into a hapless guard who /isn't/ fooled by the charm. He tucks it away with one hand, jumping at the surprised elf with his other outstretched. The guard gets a spear nearly in line before Wuyin gets past it, and he drives two fingers into the man's forehead, snapping his head back with a flicker of electric blue. The elf hits the floor like a sack of potatoes, alive but very unconscious.

That's about when the charm stops working altogether. Violence, as it turns out, makes it stop working.

Wuyin gets stopped by the bulk of the dragon(?). He's too disoriented to teleport again -- he needs a moment to refocus enough to not risk appearing in a wall. "Ah, your offer is kind, sir," he inclines his head slightly, drawing himself up, "but I am afraid I require entry. If you will not move, I will be forced to make you."

He's being awfully polite. It's a little weird. Maybe he's not with the zombie lizard?

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The undead dragon seems to be maimed for the moment, proving to be a sitting duck. The Elves are currently trying to figure out how far away they need to be to not be destroyed by its screams or breath so they can pincushion it to death properly.

Lezard, however, gestures with his staff, raising it up into the air. "You are out of time, Elf-King. I tire of this game!" There is a surge of massive energy around Lezard as he twists the forces of the elements once more. the air seems to darken around him as he thrusts the staff towards the ground itself, directing itself downwards.

"In my hand, the creator's sword that calls eternal sleep. Honour our pact and hear my command! Animate Earth!"

As he speaks, the ground rumbles, a shockwave travelling deep through the forest towards Thranduil, before there is a terrifying noise. The ground heaves and buckles, blasting upwards in a gout of magma and flame as it shatters the area and levels Elf and Undead alike in a miniature eruption. As Bahamut seems to have left the battlefield based on Thranduil's warning, he does not concern himself any more with the Dragon-King.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     "Bahamut, call for reinforcements!" Thranduil shouts to the Dragon-King, throwing himself to the side as the magma and flame, some of the magma catching him on one side. He rolls to douse the flames and then gets to his feet, sheathing one sword and running forward to bring the other down upon the zombie dragon with a fierce battlecry. He ignores the pain from being burned and just goes into a rage when he sees how many Elves have fallen, and the idea that there is an intruder in HIS kingdom. Thranduil hates dragons, even though he is OK with Bahamut, and that hatred comes through in his attacks.

Bahamut has posed:
     "And how shall I do that? Your elves are not likely to answer my call, and my allies are nowhere nearby!" the dragon calls out before listening to Wuyin. Bahamut grins at Wuyin's quiet confidence. "It is unlikely you would be able to force me to do anything, much less move aside for an invader into a friend's land."

     With Wuyin's intent, if not his goal, now clear, Bahamut bellows, "ELVES OF MIRKWOOD! INVADERS ARE WITHIN YOUR FOREST AND YOUR CITY!! WITH KING THRANDUIL'S BLESSING, I CALL UPON YOU TO DEFEND YOUR HOME! WE WILL NOT LET IT FALL, NOR WILL WE ALLOW THESE INCROACHERS TO DAMAGE IT! COME! YOUR KING CALLS YOU TO ACTION!"

     His proclamation done, and easily heard for miles in any direction, Bahamut roars before launching his attack on Wuyin. But, rather than throw himself at his opponent as he would usually do, Bahamut holds his position trying to block Wuyin's entrance into the elven underground and instead fires a powerful spell. Flare. A burst of pure energy explodes around Wuyin, searing into him and the ground around him. Fire only results when something is saturated to the point of combustion. Which is entirely possible.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
"Hmm..." Lezard considers the unusual survival of Thranduil. "Hardened indeed. I will need to discover the source of such... resilience." He turns and snaps his fingers.

The undead immediately begin pulling back, grappling what they can and dragging it towards that center point that Lezard has been collecting the entire time. Elves, both living and dead, lie within the circle, those alive still struggling with the undead clamped aroung them. "I think I have played enough of this farce. It would be ill advised to cull your people, Elf-King. It would be... /inefficient/."

Even as the Necromancer speaks, the Dragon Zombie attempts to lash out at Thranduil. However, the strike is clumsy, the rotting flesh unable to match the speed and hatred of the Elf-King. Thranduil easily dodges, driving its blades into the beast. There is a low, sickening crunch, and it gurgles, the dead thing perhaps feeling pain for the first time in ages as the blades of the First Age slide into its rotten form. A claw is hacked off, spinning through the air to crash down with the weight of the fury held by the Lord of the Wood Elves. It snaps once more feebly at Thranduil, but is far too little, too late. And it leaves itself wide open.

"Ah, I liked that one." Lezard sighs. "It will be a pity. Dragon corpses do not simply grow upon trees after all. Nevertheless, I have what I have come for." He turns to the Elves, and holds out his hands, intoning words of power. A circle begins to slowly form around the group of undead and Elves. What will happen now?

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil follows through with his sword strike a little too far and his sword clangs against a root, but he sweeps it back up to slash at the corpse, whether it is still functional or not. The Silvan Elves begin pouring into the Halls, leaving only the dead and struggling around their Sindaran king. "What have you come for?" Thranduil asks with a sneer. The adrenaline is starting to wear off and he takes a few ungraceful steps. "You will find yourself at the end of a sword any time you try entering this forest. I will see that you suffer before you die." He trudges to the corpse of one of the Elves and kneels down, looking sorrowful.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin smiles a little. He lets Bahamut raise his voice, reaching to his left side to cross-draw his sword, a double-edged, one-handed straight sword. It looks nice, but not like anything particularly special. He lowers it on his right, left arm drawn up across his chest, and waits. He tilts his head again. "After you, please."

Several things happen all at once.

Power gathers. The world starts to fill with heat and light. Wuyin's arm snaps up, swinging the blade into a vertical defensive posture in an instant. An orange glimmer runs up the middle of the blade, a quick flash, and a burst of green and white light spirals out of him. The green lingers around him, lining his form in the fractions of a second the Flare manifests, but the white touches the ground and spreads.

The space immediately in front of the door, and the space in a wide swath in every direction, is traced with white. A hexagonal pattern glows on the ground in bright white, with smaller interlocking hexagons filling it in a regular pattern. The edges emit pulsing light of the same color, a sort of arena formed out of some sort of powerful magic.

The middle of it, where Wuyin stands, is immediately blasted into pieces. To Bahamut's eyes, the Flare manifests oddly, the spell ruptured like it was a fruit thrown at a blade and split perfectly on contact. A blast shadow of pulverized woodland spreads over the middle of the glowing lines. The pattern is unmarred.

More importantly, Wuyin is /right there/. In less than the time it took to blink, he closed the gap between the place he stood and Bahamut's guarded portal, moving like he was light as a feather. He leads with a lunge, throwing one arm out wide and thrusting the other forward, the Anima-wreathed blade striking less like a steel blade in the hands of a man and more akin to a guided missile. The force behind it is astonishing. The wounds it can leave are deep and bleeding.

This close, it is easy to tell that Wuyin is burned, bruised and smiling.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
"You could not tell?" Lezard speaks, channelling power into the circle that grows around the group of Elves and Undead. "I've come for them."

He looks over at the grieving King. "Oh, believe me, I will expect your delightful welcome. I will be more prepared when next I visit, and we will see who will suffer. Farewell, Elf-King. We will meet again."

And then they fade away, the entire group of Elves and Undead within the circle vanishing in a flash, and then fading away, The remaining Undead are swiftly dispatched, as they have lost their remaining support and motive force. The bones and flesh return to the forest to resume nourishing the trees... And perhaps their anger towards those who condemned them to die here. The Dragon Zombie itself was slain by Thranduil, the corpse losing what magic it had keeping it intact as it begins to slough away, the rotten flesh disintegrating to leave merely ancient bones.

At least Thranduil can take solace in hanging a dragon skull over his fireplace should he choose.

Bahamut has posed:
     Bahamut is hit, and his armored scutes aren't enough to stop this thrust. He growls in pain as the blade pierces into his body. But, he is used to such injuries. Even as his blood flows down his body from the hole in his belly, he grins down at Wuyin. "You should withdraw. The undead monsters are pulling back. You are soon to be surrounded by elven warriors. And I am still standing."

     With Wuyin so close, Bahamut swings both large, clawed hands inward, attempting to catch Wuyin between them in a crushing, rending attack. He fully expects Wuyin to avoid that attack, however, so he quickly follows up with a burst of lightning magic even as his wings give a few flaps to keep him balanced as he tries to ignore the injury. "Whatever you came here for, it is surely not worth your life. And I can tell you, these elves are not kind to intruders. Especially those who attack them."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil sheathes his other sword and looks around, surveying the carnage and feeling sorrow from the loss of so many of his people. They were people under his command, people he vowed to protect, and he failed them. The adrenaline from the battle has faded from his body and the intense pain from his injury rushes in. He emits a faint groan and falls to his knees. "Bahamut, do you not have a radio object?" He pronounces Radio a bit oddly since it's not a native word to him, then doubles over. "You found the second outsider?"

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin uses Bahamut's larger bulk to pull back from him, kicking off the dragon's hide to disengage. The creature's claws come down, but they barely graze him, leaving cuts on his coat but not in his skin. He puts his feet down, sliding a couple feet backwards before he halts -- and then stabbing the lightning.

This goes slightly better than expected. The bolts travel down the blade and his body, and he swings his left arm forward, gritting his teeth and channeling it back /outward/. The electricity combines with his enormous Anima reserve, and it erupts from his fingers in a ball, surging back in Bahamut's direction. It is very easy to strike someone that does not wish to move.

Wuyin's burns are more severe, but they're fading. That green light that surrounds him pulses like a beating heart, and he regenerates under its influence quite steadily. He's still injured, but the worst is fading rapidly, keeping him in fighting shape while he lets the dragon bleed.

"I suppose I should," he replies, "but I don't particularly care to leave things unfinished. If you don't want to fight any longer --" There's a /flicker/. He disppears in an electric haze.

His blade spins, letting a cutting wave loose /behind/ Bahamut. It's a bunch of crescents of force, hammering into him like waves pounding at the beach -- and, weirdly, interacting with that wound he left to make it suddenly much worse, all at once. Chances are, the unnatural bleeding will stop, though.

"-- you're welcome to have a seat."

Bahamut has posed:
     "Of course I do." Bahamut says over his radio to Thranduil. "And yes, I found the outsider. And his blade found my gut. I am in no danger yet, but he seems very intent on escaping into your halls. If you are done with the necromancer, perhaps you should get back to the city."

     As he expected, Wuyin avoids the first attack and is hit by the second. But, unexpectedly his lightning attack is channeled back toward him. Bahamut grits his teeth as he takes the hit, the electricity arcing over his body.

     Then, he is hit from behind by that unusual attack. The pain causes him to roar out, and his legs twitch, but he refuses to be cowed by whoever this person is. "That is kind of you to offer." Bahamut says through clenched teeth, even as he turns. "But, it is you who shall have a seat!"

     Bahamut charges energy again, and a trio of glowing orbs appear around his shoulders. "Leave!" Bahamut demands as he unleashes those grey-white charges. They explode upon impact, and they don't have to hit Wuyin directly. The charges are powerful enough that if Wuyin is anywhere near them, they are sure to do some damage. And perhaps even crystalize part of his body with petrification.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin is, technically speaking, inside their halls. He feels as if he could just turn and run and get this done with. Then again, what is precious to these people? He's thoughtful -- not a good thing to be in the midst of battle, but there you have it.

The grey-white orbs are not something he can deal with. It's something he's never seen before. He dodges one entirely, but the other two hit him, one striking the blade in a neat parry and the other clipping his side. They burst, sending him tumbling across the interior hall and into a wall. He manages to keep his feet underneath him at the end, steadying himself.

"Huh." He looks down. His right arm is grey and stony from the elbow down. He's having a very hard time bending it. "That's interesting." He lowers his sword with some effort, moving it behind him. It disappears, but his hand hasn't opened. "Petrification? I'm not certain I've seen that before. Very impressive." Lightning arcs between his left hand's fingers. There's a thrumming power building. It's making his hair start to stand on end.

"I do not think I will have a seat," he says, "but I will take a knee, and my leave. My regards to the lord of the house. This place is..." Wu smiles. The expression is somehow disconcerting. "...interesting. I look forward to seeing it again." He drops to a knee, thrusting his hand at the floor. There's a spark, a flash of red-orange light.

The explosion is enormous, a fiery inferno that erupts out the entrance Bahamut guards and shakes the walls. It leaves a burning pyre when it's gone, firestorm threatening to immolate anything nearby. It becomes mundane but still-dangerous moments later, the power fueling it fading away, defeatable through normal or supernatural means.

The second intruder is nowhere to be found. It's hard to tell if he teleported out, or...