Enzeru

Shadow · #1 06-22-2009

((CUE MUSIC! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4SaDOoEspNI (prepare to laugh. This fits awesome! XD ))

Enzeru ran swiftly through the hallways of the underground maze. Everything was heavy stone but everywhere there were torches burning, illuminating the surroundings with an eerie feeling. Enzeru was wearing a slim fitting armor that gave him excellent protection and gave him enough freedom to move around properly.

Enzeru was an axe wielder. Two of them to be precise, as he was holding the rather large and heavy looking axes in his hands as he ran. They went up and down and if he wouldn't have worn armor, we would have seen his slim muscles working overtime to wield these heavy weapons. Atleast, they weren't heavy for him anymore, as he trained on that, naturally. Right now he had to finish his opponent and now they were underground in this maze of many walls and sometimes a room. He wasn't sure where they were, but it gave him a bad feeling.

The place had obviously been empty for many years.

But who lit all these torches then? he asked himself while running, his long darkred hair in a tail, waving with his motions as he ran fast, corner after corner, turn after turn. He cursed himself for not having a better memory to remember every single corner and turn he took, so he could find his way back, but it couldn't be helped. Enzeru was a reflex instinctive fighter, who just did what seemed right to him at that time.

He loved fighting with axes more then anything. He had tried fighting with swords at one time, but he failed miserably, he hated the slim and sneaky shape of the blades. It didn't say power, it didn't gave him the burst he got from his axes. Perhaps the weapons fit his personality quite right. He looked slim and was very agile, didn't look overly muscled at all, but he wanted something to hold, something he just had to swing and could kill with. Swords required finesse and to much thinking. That counted for many weapons. Axes just felt like an extension of his arms, it belonged to them.

The two twin axes weren't ordinary axes, ofcourse. They were called his Wings and he never mentioned them seperately. For him, they were one weapon. Enzeru ment Angel so the name of his axes fitted him even more in that way.

Right now his instinct told him to run and to wait for a moment to strike his opponent, who was following him closely. Enzeru narrowed his eyes as he turned a corner and reached a large room (area) with many pillars. It seemed just an hallway, and it was so big he couldn't even see the walls at the left, right and front side as he entered. The air was much colder here underground, and the pillars that supported the ground above them reached far up. Even here there were many torches lit, and yet again it made him wonder.

Enzeru breathed heavily as he had stopped for a moment, then looked around and ran towards a suitable hiding spot behind a pillar nearby. He would wait for his opponent here, and pray that his opponent had less stamina then he did, as he catched his breath, his armored hands tightly holding Wings.

Waiting.

Zyta · #2 06-22-2009

If Enzeru paid attention to his surroundings for anything out of place, he would instantly see that the burning glow of the torches were neither red or a dull amber orange, but a very heavy blue; the kind that is usually associated with spirits. However, the torches were not some religious rite to summon souls from the beyond; the blue flaming torches were made from and kept running with electricity coursing from torch to torch along an unseen-able path of particles.

After lighting the torches along a specific path leading from the surface down to the deepest part of the maze where Sanskrit waited; the chamber that Sanskrit waited in was a large room reaching nearly twenty meters to a domed roof above, following down the face of the walls were bricks lined and held in place with plaster, following the natural contour of the earth. Bodies lined the ground in different states of decomposition. One unfortunate adventurer had his armor cleaved in half along with his body, a black stain was seeped into the brick from long ago, his face thrown up eyeless, skinless, showing nothing but raw chewed bone. Sanskrit was not their slayer, though it may seem to be.

Clank! Clank! Clank!

Sanskrit heard Enzeru long before he saw the man. As his armor collided with the maze’s floor it made a thundering tapping sound that bounced off the interior of the maze until it sounded like an army of soldiers was running down the maze. Sanskrit held his spear tightly and waited, hoping that Enzeru would follow his path of torches to the chamber.

And then the clanking paused, only the last echoes bounced off the walls now. And then there was silence.

Nevermore · #3 06-23-2009

(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvCeo1ZVlro)

When Enzeru choose his hiding place he might have overlooked, or he might just not have cared, that the area he choose to hid in was right at the mouth of another corridor, this one unlit. The darkness inside that corridor was unimaginable and darker than any night. From deep within that dark corridor came the soft sound of chains dragging slowly across stone, ever so often accompanied by the sound of rattling chains. As the sounds slowly grew louder Enzeru would notice that the torches near him were beginning to go out one by one until even the ones at the far opposite wall from him went out as well and the darkness of that one corridor now engulfed him as well.

"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWY6D...eature=related"

Doc · #4 09-01-2009

(Sorry it took so long, Shadow! Lost track of things during all the crap I had to do to get ready for college! I'm gonna use my character from the Final Fantasy RP.)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DpFDv...eature=related

Heavy footsteps echoed throughout the maze, ringing out from the darkness behind Enzeru. The clinking of heavy armor and the sound of something both incredibly sharp and impossibly heavy dragging along the stone floor accompanying the uniform clank of steel clad feet was all that emanated from the shadows. The march was slow, yet lethal and carrying with it the scent of blood, that of both man and beast.

The dim torchlight that illuminated the passageway managed to shine weakly upon the massive frame that approached from the blackness, the wild warrior who had been hunting Enzeru barely visible as anything but a black mass aside from the glint of his dark armor.

Sigurd continued in his approach, his massive battle axe dragging along behind him and cutting into the ground on which he walked, a long and gaping valley left behind it in the flooring. Across his back was strapped a massive and rune inscribed blade, the hilt of which bore a skull insignia that poked out just over his massive armor clad shoulder to the right of his helm.

"You've stopped running." His savage voice sounded from beneath the armor that anointed his head, its sound deep and hollow, "At last."

SIGURD

Shadow · #5 09-02-2009

Enzeru suddenly had many 'feelings' at the same time. He wasn't alone. And he wasn't talking about that big guy following him. Something else was in these halls, and it was nearby. Clank! Clank! Clank! His heartbeat was racing fast as he looked behind him into a corridor that was pure darkness, and even though he could not see anything, he knew it was there. Shivers went down his spine as lights were going off one at a time. There was more then one.

PLAY MUSIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TDGBUp25i8U

"Screw this, i'm outta here!" he spoke softly to himself and jumped from behind the pillar in a running motion. His vision was shaky of the adrenaline that was being pumped through his veins, hurrying as the lights around them were going off one at a time. While he ran, his darkred long hair waved up and down. Quickly the silent, big warrior Sigurd came into view, standing in the corridor where he came from into this big hall. Without any words, he tossed one of the big axes he was wielding as a whistling sound could be heard as it sliced through air and made high speed, spinning around fast towards Sigurd. There was still light from the torches around them, but from the corridor he was hiding in front earlier, it was completely dark.

He heard another Clank! but this time he knew his one axe had made impact on Sigurd somehow. This isn't the time for fighting him, he tought. With a groan he jumped up high in the air, his axe glowing a little as he came higher then a normal human would. His axe smashed into the concrete of the pillar, and immediatly he spun around to get even higher on another pillar. Using his axe as placeholder, he managed to 'stick' to the pillar, by smashing the blade of the axe in it. He turned around, extended his arm and his other axe came flying back at him again as he catched it. He didn't see blood on the blade, so that ment Sigurd blocked his attack. Impressive. The blade could usually cut through everything.

He slashed the second axe into the concrete and lifted himself up so he could stand on the first axe he smashed into the pillar, his back to the pillar. Whatever was down there, could most likely go for Sigurd first now, as he was high up there, hoping to atleast spot the danger faster now. His heartbeat was heavy in his head and his ragged breathing was only from the excitement, but he was far from tired yet.

Doc · #6 09-02-2009

"Coward!" Sigurd bellowed, deflecting the thrown axe with his own massive weapon, bringing it about in a powerful swing. He followed Enzeru with his gaze as the warrior leapt upwards, ascending upon the pillars that rose into darkness. Recoiling and wrapping both of his colossal hands about the hilt of his war axe, he flexed his massive muscles before bringing the weapon against the pillar with incredible fury, chopping into the pillar and forcing it to shake violently. His intent was to shake Enzeru from his perch overhead, but if he had to Sigurd would bring down the pillar as he would a great oak.

"Face me in battle!" he roared, striking at the pillar once more.

Nevermore · #7 09-02-2009

Something sharp and rusty glanced off the pillar just before Sigurd's armored face with an odd echo and left a surprisingly deep gash in the stone before the chained weapon withdrew back to its source. A dark, dirty man stood several yards from the armored giant, clad in not but the torn and stained rags of an old priest robe that barely covered his wasted body. He was strangely pale, which was the only reason he stood out from the darkness, otherwise he would be missed or mistaken for a shadow. His body was wasted to nearly skin and bones and he hunched forward slightly as if a great weight crippled his body. However, the only weight that crippled him was the weight of his madness. "Hehehehehe....hahahahahhahaha...." his laughter carried down the corridors with a strange echoing quality, despite the fact the he laughed very softly. He flashed rotting teeth through a wild grin that resembled something a demon, or the devil himself might give. "What delightful fool is it that has stumbled into my 'home' hahahahahahaha," he said the word home with distaste and sarcasm and his laughter was foul, painful to hear. "Quite the man you are, hahahahaha, like a god! Yes, what strength! Though you are no god, I know. I hate the gods, for they are foul, and it was them that cursed me with the foul name Astaroth, the darkness that pains me, and this foul home, hehehehehe."

"Though you are no god you have still stumbled into my home, how rude of you, hehehehe! Perhaps I should kill you, yes, kill the delightful fool and destroy his foul god-like strength, hahahahaha.... Wretch!" He cried out the word wretch in a strangled voice similar to a growl to made his whole body shake and his head snapped to the side before resuming its mad grin and stare at the man before him. It was unclear if the word wretch was an insult at Sigurd, or if Astaroth merely spoke to himself, but one thing was clear, he was quite mad.

Doc · #8 09-02-2009

MUSIC: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAkP8kRGRyc

Sigured issued a low growl similar to that of a challenged wolf as he turned to face the decaying wretch that now addressed him. His form was sickly and white as snow, practically glowing due to the dim lighting of the corridor reflecting upon his pale and rotting fresh. He resembled a beggar. A worm.

"Begone, cripple." Sigurd commanded, giving the living corpse a once over. The thing welt a bizarre weapon indeed, but like all weapons it was only as deadly as the skill of its master. A sick and withering old husk surely posed no threat to one as hardened as Sigurd, the nomadic Warlord of the Northlands!

"Or do you seek a mercy killing to escape from your vile existence?" the colossal warrior questioned mockingly, his grip about the handle of his great axe tightening, the sound of cracking knuckles and blistering flesh issuing forth from his clutches.

"I assure you, there will be nothing merciful about it. Go now, back to beg in the gutter with the vermin and plague where you belong."

Nevermore · #9 09-02-2009

For a while Astaroth stood silent as though he had been spoken into submission or were too scared to move. At that exact point he very much resembled the begar that Sigurd mistook him for. Then all at once his face nearly broke in half as his mouth split open as wide as it would go and he threw back his head with a sickening crack as a terrible, echoing laugh shouted from his rough throat. He howled his laughter at the top of his lungs and twisted from side to side, setting his numerous chains to rattling. The sound of his crazed, demonic laughter mixed with his rattling chains gave the ringing corridor an eerie touch that was sure to make any man's skin crawl. Eventually his mad laughing faded to little more than a twitching giggle as he lowered his head, cracking his neck again and faced Sigurd as if the man had told a joke and now Astaroth expected his serious response. The action of his laughter had revealed that Astaroth carried quite a few more than just the one chain. Well over a dozen chains hung from his frail body. The presence of the chains was not the surprising fact of the matter however, the origin of the chains was what caused the most alarm among all who met him, for the chains did not simply hang off his body. If Sigurd were to inspect him well enough he would discover that every chain sprouted from Astaroth's flesh. Vicious, rotten wounds, still festering as if they were fresh, marked the destructed flesh where each chain burst forth from the very depths of his soul.

Still giggling, Astaroth addressed Sigurd with his madness, "Mercy! Oh mercy! What a fool! Hahahahahaha! Mercy is not what I seek, nor deserve ask the gods, it was them that did this to me, as you put it my vile existence, hahahaha. You can grant me nothing! This is no vile existence, no, no, no, no, but a delightful one! One of spite! One of power! Hate and blood, poison and darkness," as he placed emphesis on the word darkness one of the numerous chains began to rattle softly before its whole length faded into the darkness that surrounded Astaroth. The rattling continued as, barely visible, the blackened chain began to float without assistance until it was level with Astaroth's head. He grinned darkly as the cursed chain hovered before him like a deadly snake, rusted, bloody knife pointed like a fang at Sigurd.

Doc · #10 09-02-2009

Beneath his helm Sigurd scowled. This was no mere cripple, but a wretch from the bowls of hell that festered beneath them. It was not the first otherworlder that the Warlord had encountered, but its presence was without a doubt the most twisted and cold. The sight of the chains dancing from Astaroth's flesh would make a man's skin crawl, his stomach convulse, his eyes close themselves desperately. But Sigurd offered only another growl, his muscles bulging as the veins began to protrude, pressing outwards against his skin as the blood within his began to pump faster.

The hunger for battle. The thrill of combat. Denizen of the netherworld or not, this fiend was an opponent!

"I'll return for you shortly." Sigurd stated, his voice booming as he addressed Enzeru up in his perch without looking away from the sick wretch before him. It was then that he began to move, step by step, closer to Astaroth's hunched form. The rhythmic clanking of his armored feet upon the stone floor was the only sound that could be hear, echoing throughout the hall in both directions like a drum sounding for a march.

He would crush this vermin and then resume hunting his earlier quarry.