User blog:Ziharku/Log 13: "The Beast Within"

Steel clashes with steel as he lunges at me, taken completely by surprise. Drawn back to his side, raised over the head, and returning to meet my blade again in a downward slash. I thank my time spent watching the Corsair in our troupe fight. As a Hume, the fighting stance and attack pattern is much rougher and full of holes than that I was raised to know. I supposed being raised along-side Galka causes their need to show that they can use brute force in their combat as well. Parrying, dodging, I look for the rhythm in his attacks, any patterns I might exploit. His brows deepening in frustration, he summons the mana in the air for an attack. Panicked, I remember that he too would have a power like my own, probably stronger. The apparition of a Lamiae sends me flying back and off my feet. I reach for the wall of the chamber to pick myself up, but he has closed the gap all too quickly just grazing my cheek with his blade. My body moves on its own, feet and hands hurling me to the right just in time to evade his sword sweeping out, seeking more blood than the small dribble that runs down it. Jumping to my feet, I feel for the flow of mana, stringing it together and calling a Diremite to use this web to slow my assailant. With a smirk, he inhales mana deeply, then exhales in a stream of white radiance. This not only tears my string of mana asunder, but burns my flesh, even through my clothing. My clothing, strangely, untouched? My eyes have a familiar sensation, less burning, more…glowing perhaps. As I reach for more mana with my mind, it eludes my grasp entirely. It seems the burn of his breath has stripped me of my ability to manipulate it. Frustrated, I reach for the medicine pouch at my waist, but too late, for he is already upon me once again. It seems that he is aware of the effect of his burning breath, and trying to make the most of my inability to cast. Summoning a Quadav, the apparition hits me with a headbutt. Staggered, I step back, miraculously avoiding a slash to the neck. Still unable to use mana to counter, I instead run forward and use my own head in retaliation. Pain and shock shows on his face, that I’d resort to brutish tactics such as this surprises even me. It isn’t becoming of a noble Elvaan, but it served its purpose, as I began pressing him with sword slashes. It seems that I’m at an advantage on that front at least, with two swords and the elegant swordsmanship of my people to keep his blows at bay. Just when I feel I’ve got him cornered, I feel the mana surge and suddenly there are four of him. Even his eyes grin now. Fighting one man was easy enough to stay untouched, but I fear four will be the end of me. I’ve been surrounded, the man and his clones circling in odd formations and taking turns striking out. Some I dodge, only to be struck in the back or side by a different image. Clarity. As I go to block the blade of one man, his sword phases through mine. These men, it seems may be illusions. Mirages. I’ve been fooled, exposing myself to the attacks of the real Raubahn as I struggled to fend off people that weren’t there. Enraged, I force my mind to take hold of the mana and let out an icy breath of my own, circling to hit the shadows as well as the real man. Knocked back by the intensity, he goes to strike me only to find I’ve frozen his sword arm. Surging, the mana around him takes the shape of an Imp. Surging, the mana around me takes the shape a Troll. Protected by the Troll’s hide, I shrug off the Imp. With the flat of my blades, this man will receive a beating like he’s never know. The voices call out with joy at each hit, his bones crying out as they try to stay in one piece. His skin, changing shades as bruise after bruise rises. In my blood-lust, I fail realize his intent. As I sweep in for a new attack, he turns his body so that I will hit his sword arm. I knock the ice from him and free him for the perfect counter attack. Hot. My shoulder burns white hot. He’s pierced my left shoulder, my good arm goes limp. I’m disgusted with the terrible tact with which I released him. How could I be so foolish as to free him flashes through my mind as he draws his blade from me, bringing only more pain. I fall to my knees, his glare smug in victory. I can’t lose, I can’t die here. I didn’t live through all of this in such torment only to die by the hands of one of my original afflictors. I can feel it, welling up inside me. The hydra shows itself in a flash of blue mana, the form too large to be housed by this small chamber, breaking through the walls and collapsing the ceiling around us. Panicked, he swings his sword downward to finish me off, but the hydra’s ability defends me, keeps me safe. His sword bounces off me repeatedly. Summoning a Sabotender, so many needles shoot toward me. I cannot count the stream, I worry this attack may break the Hydra’s defense. And it does, as the last needle strikes me, I feel the barrier shatter. He pants heavily, manipulating mana the way he has takes its toll. I pant heavily, as my shirt is drenched by more and more blood. They call, the voices. They burn, my vision blurring. The air around me starts to rise in a torrent as the mana is drained from the air. His eyes widen, his voices calling for blood but his body unable to meet their request. My voices, fewer but just as loud now, call for an end to this. Mana welling up inside me, I take all of the energy I have left and pour it into this attack. With unseen speed, I deliver four consecutive slashes. His sword is knocked out of his hands. Calling for the apparition of a Lamiae, somehow merging it with my own image, I toss aside my own blades and strike with a barrage of claws. For how long I kept this up, I do not know. I lost my senses around the time the assault began. When I came to my senses, I was leaned against what remained of a wall in the chamber. He was opposite me, leaned in a similar fashion, though still unconscious. In trying to stand, my shoulder cries out in pain. Instead, I pull my shirt open and take a poultice from my medicine pouch. Finally, I can stop the bleeding for the time being. Using my right arm, instead, to help me stand, I go to retrieve my swords from the rubble. It’s hard to believe a simple duel had taken place here. I pick up his blade as well, and walk over to the man, his eyes closed as he sits leaned against a wall fragment. I heft the sword for a downward strike, and plunge it down…into the ground next to him. He lets out a grunting laugh, asking why I would spare him as the victor. It seems he was awake. “I didn’t win, it was the voices in me. You were a good opponent though, and it would be a waste if you were lost to the Empire. When I can control myself better, when we’ve both grown, I should like to fight again. Next time, when a life isn’t at stake.” He nods, and motions toward a small alter that was broken in the Hydra’s summoning. “You’ll want that, if you truly want control. Find a man one of your towns to tell you what to do with it.” He added: “With the power you have gained, you may soon find yourself in a position to glimpse the true purpose of the empire. Your sense of freedom will help you forge the will to decide your own destiny and control the beast within. While you may never be mortal again, I pray this helps you keep your true form during the journey.” I go to the alter, push aside the rubble, and find a lever on the side. Pulling it, the alter moves aside to reveal the gift he would bestow on me. I returned to our base in Al Zahbi that night, and there was quite a fuss on what I’d gotten into. I felt I couldn’t say the true nature of the fight, so I claimed to merely have gotten into a duel, but the little White Mage doubted me from the state or my body. My companion kept a worried expression, even after the healing was done, and tired as I was, the Ranger’s ears were perked up for details on the fight. I wove a tail of clashing blades and spinning bodies, one such that even the Red Mage and Black Mage stayed to listen. I hoped the story, being close to the actual occurrence but excluding the magic use, would keep them off my trail. It only served to inspire the Ranger though, and he wanted to fight me as well. That night in fact, for “A simple duel like you say it was shouldn’t leave you so tired as to turn down my request.” Begrudgingly I accept…..only to be knocked out by a whirling bow-staff, hitting me soundly between the eyes before I can draw my swords. It seems I still have training to do.