Wildest Dreams

[Syndrell]

A dark mist filled Syndrell’s lungs. The pungent debris in the humid air made the dark warrior’s lungs burn, fueling his rage. Syndrell fell into a neutral stance, his center of gravity brought low, right hand raised high above his head, vibroblade in hand. The din of his weapons’ hum was a constant reminder of the lethality of his weapons. The warrior’s left hand was in a defensive position, vibroaxe gripped tightly, protecting his midsection and groin. Only the side of his body faced his assailant, making him a slim target.

His opponent, a slim faced human, brought a kick to Syndrell’s midsection that was easily sidestepped and countered with a swipe from the humming blade in the dark warrior’s right hand. The weapon was brought down swiftly and found its mark. With the sharpness of a surgeon’s blade, the sword sliced through the thin armor of Syndrell’s assailant and split his flesh from throat to belly.

As Syndrell turned from his fresh kill, blood still gurgling freely from the lethal wounds recently inflicted, a second attacker approached. “Good,” snarled Syndrell, his voice dripping with hatred, “and I was beginning to think tonight would be boring.”

[Diego Van Derveld]

"Far from it." Diego stepped from his vantage point, allowing the pale light to reveal himself.

"You have some skill with a blade." He commented casually, glancing to the slain man at Syndrell's feet. Diego arched an eyebrow, and let his gaze return to the living.

[Syndrell]

A breeze played in Syndrell’s twisted, braided dark black hair, throwing strands into his face. The warrior cast his calm, dull gray eyes towards the new comer; waves of enmity washing from Syndrell as he gave the man’s figure a look over.

Syndrell relaxed his stance slightly but didn’t lower his guard. His eyes snapped away from the man cast in somber shadows to the surroundings. The wind was picking up and dark storm clouds were barely visible in the night sky. Warm breaths from Syndrell’s open mouth were made visible in the crisp air, the chill biting at his exposed fingertips.

“Skill?” said the warrior in a harsh, parched sounding voice that was somehow solid and full, “skill is nothing. You are what you need yourself to be, you are what you make yourself to be, nothing more.”

The first few fat raindrops descended from the ominous, black sky. Syndrell stood in the center of the small grove, towering trees wrapping the misshaped circle around the clearing. A shrill whistle played through the branches of the massive guardians of the land, whispers that filled Syndrell with an immense realization of the life that surrounded him, and the death he had just evoked.

Syndrell relished the moment, slowing his breathing and taking in the scene. The dark warrior’s pale skin was subtly accented by the two moons in the heavens, It’s a good day to die, he thought, musing over his existence.

[Diego Van Derveld]

Diego laughed at the man's monologue.

"Very philosophical. Perhaps a bit too long-winded though.

Yet you aren't dead, so being here speaks enough for you."

[Syndrell]

Syndrell shifted his weight to his back leg idly. The warrior’s face contorted as he thought about the man’s words. “Here,” he croaked, “what is this place,” he said, a sly grin forming, further distorting his visage.

A resounding clap traveled over the heads of the trees, a brilliant explosion of light meeting the ground nearby in an electric embrace simultaneously. The slow, fat raindrops were replaced with voluminous, frequent, hard rain. Syndrell’s simple garments—black, loose fitting pants and a black, hardened vest—began to absorb moisture and become soggy.

The humidity in the air forced Syndrell’s clothing to cling to his body as he cocked his head, gazing at the figure in front of him as the moons were completely blotted out by dark clouds.

[Diego Van Derveld]

"For being such a warrior poet, you don't grasp the abstract well."

Diego glanced to the stormclouds above.

"You could very well be no better off than that corpse on the ground."

[Syndrell]

Syndrell didn’t like the new comer’s words. In fact, they infuriated him. The warrior’s face twisted in a sneer, his teeth clenched and were clearly visible. “You will leave this place, now,” his contorted and harsh voice spat, “you no longer interest me.”

The dark warrior’s eyes were narrow and stern. He quickly adopted a much less relaxed stance and began focusing his efforts on properly controlling his breathing.

[Diego Van Derveld]

"No my friend, I think I'll stay here."

Diego's eyes gleamed, and a slight smile creased his face.

[Syndrell]

Syndrell’s upper lip rose in a snarl and he bared his teeth. The Dark One spat his words in the direction of the affliction to his eyes, “Your insolence is most unnerving, and what, friend, do you intend by staying here?”