Patrollogs
(Jordan's decursing attempt)
[Sat Jul 20 2024]
In the Plaza of the White Oak Union
Sprawling cobblestone pathways weave through meticulously landscaped gardens and inviting seating areas. Towering, centuries-old oak trees cast dappled shadows on the weathered stone benches and the bustling clusters of students engaged in animated discussions and academic pursuits, creating a serene yet lively ambiance. The distant echoes of laughter and the subtle aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the nearby cafe intermingle with the rustling of leaves.
It is about 80F(26C) degrees.
Jordan says "Y'all want to help me with this cursed item?"
Jordan says "It's gym where Skylar has her fitness club, right? 'Cross from the apartments?"
Jordan says "Woah! "
Jordan turns to lay down their golden bracelet, beginning the ritual themself.
Donovan exhales, gets some distance, and takes his spear back up, studying Fayad carefully. He approaches briskly and leans to one side, almost as though falling - and then suddenly jabs in the other direction using his spear, trying to find a tender spot between the ribs using the spear-tip. He's not so adept, though already is much more deft with the weapon than he had been some days ago, and the attack is parried by Fayad, leaving the older man somewhat off-balance. Jordan's entrance gets a glance, but he focuses on the fight for now.
Fayad doesn't seem to ignore Jordan nearly as much, frowning. "Alright, let's see if we can...get the decursing started. I'll feed life force from the energy given off by sparring and you can focus on the ritual, alright, Jordan?"
Jordan says "Sounds good."
Donovan uses his spear as a crutch and glances over at Jordan and Fayad. "I'm not much use here... I know nothing of magic. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Jordan doesn't put it in a pocket, rather laying it out while they use one of their artsy pins to jab their wrist, using the blood to start marking the floor. "Alright, you can try giving some of your life force to Fayad. Hold onto him, and don't fight whatever you feel him doing."
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Donovan takes another deep breath out and refocuses, holding up his spear and spinning it between his hands a couple of times. Then he suddenly snaps outwards in an arcing swing with a lunge, but the flash of light seems to distract him somewhat, and the attack is easily parried. He glances nervously at it as he withdraws slightly, but then turns his attentiok back onto Fayad.
Fayad nods, closing his eyes briefly to protect himself from the flash. Jabbing forwards, he seems to be aiming more for Donovan's spear than Donovan himself, letting the loud ringing of wood against wood ring out in the sparring room.
Jordan grins, continuing to do the ritual despite the sound of combat. They whisper strange words, chanting carefully as they draw in their own blood. They occassionally prick again and again, needed to take off their bracelet to get a good gush of their own blood. "Inaculatum superiotum, inicii veritum. Hasiletii decumporum, inacio."
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
Donovan spins his spear wildly to block an attack that was probably not really aimed for his body, and takes a moment to gain a couple paces of distance. "... Y- you should probably attack me like you're trying to hurt me," he murmurs to Fayad solemnly, "because a real opponent isn't going to aim for my spear..." Now he's focused up - Jordan's ritualism isn't distracting him anymore. His next attack, another attempt at a lunge to compensate his bad leg, is considerably sharper, though Fayad is still able to parry it relatively easily.
Jordan gets up and moves, tapping the sacred circles that they've drawn with the first and third fingers from each hand. "Hacen utimus. Sseri glori."
The whole room shakes.
Fayad shivers, the cold of the uncursing artifact drawing off his life as he slows for a moment, gasping as he bats aside Donovan's spear. "Right," he grumbles, making another jab for Donovan's chest but ending up stumbling as the room, the very earth shakes, almost falling on his ass.
Donovan staggers as the room shakes - barely managing to parry Fayad's attack as he flails to maintain his footing. He tries to keep his weight on his good side, and plants his foot firmly onto the ground when the room ceases quaking, suddenly swinging a wide, backhanded arc and trying to cleave at Fayad with the tip. When this too is parried, he quickly takes his spear back closer to his person, and mutters something to himself with a slight nod.
Jordan brings out things they've kept in their pockets. They shiver from the cold, but remain unbothered. Strange powders in little packets, a stick of yew, some unusual looking leaves, a berry encased in amber. They place them in the smaller circles they have drawn. "Terii terus, Ingacio masterum, magisterii onlatus. Manii manio manisus nerit." As the room shudders, they reach out, holding the berry in place in place, and eying everything carefully. On their knees, they're able to keep their own balance pretty easily.
Fayad brings the butt end of the spear up towards Donovan, the slight man seeming to be protected by some kind of ethereal force batting away Donovan's spear before it even impacts his own, but the parry certainly helps. Advancing cautiously, Fayad lashes out with a flurry of pokes, each one neutralized by Donovan's defence thanks to their inexpert nature.
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Donovan grunts, his eyes widening somewhat as an ethereal force deflects his spear before Fayad's does. He stands his ground - almost equally as inexpert, he spins his spear about, blocking Fayad's strikes before abruptly spinning the spear again to try and attack an exposed side at close range. He's neither quick enough nor subtle enough to land it, though, and the swing is parried, leaving them at a slightly uncomfortable distance for two spear-users.
Jordan switches tactics, speaking in a deeper, more confident voice as their words change style to a more ancient tongue. "Yglesiv Necasta, bigron geriss meclat. Congeerii melat, melak, meclat em mintes. Ogvimla esi esi, adampi ye yeshin. Lemmas nerim iglsev Yglesiv. Feri akum atem pedees. Ensatyum, menteris. ISGLAVERY UT UM!!" As they finish, they plant their hands on two specified circles, screaming as it all lights up. Their blood glows on the flow, flashing, then in waves, centered on the item, flaring.
Fayad yelps, distracted heavily by both whatever the hell Jordan is doing over there and Donovan's sudden close movement. He barely brings the shaft up to block, tense and close to Donovan, and then tries to break the clash with a jab with the middle of the spear upwards towards the chest or face.
With a final burst of power the curse on a golden bracelet is broken.
Jordans Decursing Attempt 240721
(Jordan's decursing attempt)
[Sat Jul 20 2024]
In the Plaza of the White Oak Union
Sprawling cobblestone pathways weave through meticulously landscaped gardens and inviting seating areas. Towering, centuries-old oak trees cast dappled shadows on the weathered stone benches and the bustling clusters of students engaged in animated discussions and academic pursuits, creating a serene yet lively ambiance. The distant echoes of laughter and the subtle aroma of freshly brewed coffee from the nearby cafe intermingle with the rustling of leaves.
It is about 80F(26C) degrees.
Jordan says "Y'all want to help me with this cursed item?"
Jordan says "It's gym where Skylar has her fitness club, right? 'Cross from the apartments?"
Jordan says "Woah! "
Jordan turns to lay down their golden bracelet, beginning the ritual themself.
Donovan exhales, gets some distance, and takes his spear back up, studying Fayad carefully. He approaches briskly and leans to one side, almost as though falling - and then suddenly jabs in the other direction using his spear, trying to find a tender spot between the ribs using the spear-tip. He's not so adept, though already is much more deft with the weapon than he had been some days ago, and the attack is parried by Fayad, leaving the older man somewhat off-balance. Jordan's entrance gets a glance, but he focuses on the fight for now.
Fayad doesn't seem to ignore Jordan nearly as much, frowning. "Alright, let's see if we can...get the decursing started. I'll feed life force from the energy given off by sparring and you can focus on the ritual, alright, Jordan?"
Jordan says "Sounds good."
Donovan uses his spear as a crutch and glances over at Jordan and Fayad. "I'm not much use here... I know nothing of magic. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."
Jordan doesn't put it in a pocket, rather laying it out while they use one of their artsy pins to jab their wrist, using the blood to start marking the floor. "Alright, you can try giving some of your life force to Fayad. Hold onto him, and don't fight whatever you feel him doing."
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Donovan takes another deep breath out and refocuses, holding up his spear and spinning it between his hands a couple of times. Then he suddenly snaps outwards in an arcing swing with a lunge, but the flash of light seems to distract him somewhat, and the attack is easily parried. He glances nervously at it as he withdraws slightly, but then turns his attentiok back onto Fayad.
Fayad nods, closing his eyes briefly to protect himself from the flash. Jabbing forwards, he seems to be aiming more for Donovan's spear than Donovan himself, letting the loud ringing of wood against wood ring out in the sparring room.
Jordan grins, continuing to do the ritual despite the sound of combat. They whisper strange words, chanting carefully as they draw in their own blood. They occassionally prick again and again, needed to take off their bracelet to get a good gush of their own blood. "Inaculatum superiotum, inicii veritum. Hasiletii decumporum, inacio."
For several seconds the room grows painfully cold.
Donovan spins his spear wildly to block an attack that was probably not really aimed for his body, and takes a moment to gain a couple paces of distance. "... Y- you should probably attack me like you're trying to hurt me," he murmurs to Fayad solemnly, "because a real opponent isn't going to aim for my spear..." Now he's focused up - Jordan's ritualism isn't distracting him anymore. His next attack, another attempt at a lunge to compensate his bad leg, is considerably sharper, though Fayad is still able to parry it relatively easily.
Jordan gets up and moves, tapping the sacred circles that they've drawn with the first and third fingers from each hand. "Hacen utimus. Sseri glori."
The whole room shakes.
Fayad shivers, the cold of the uncursing artifact drawing off his life as he slows for a moment, gasping as he bats aside Donovan's spear. "Right," he grumbles, making another jab for Donovan's chest but ending up stumbling as the room, the very earth shakes, almost falling on his ass.
Donovan staggers as the room shakes - barely managing to parry Fayad's attack as he flails to maintain his footing. He tries to keep his weight on his good side, and plants his foot firmly onto the ground when the room ceases quaking, suddenly swinging a wide, backhanded arc and trying to cleave at Fayad with the tip. When this too is parried, he quickly takes his spear back closer to his person, and mutters something to himself with a slight nod.
Jordan brings out things they've kept in their pockets. They shiver from the cold, but remain unbothered. Strange powders in little packets, a stick of yew, some unusual looking leaves, a berry encased in amber. They place them in the smaller circles they have drawn. "Terii terus, Ingacio masterum, magisterii onlatus. Manii manio manisus nerit." As the room shudders, they reach out, holding the berry in place in place, and eying everything carefully. On their knees, they're able to keep their own balance pretty easily.
Fayad brings the butt end of the spear up towards Donovan, the slight man seeming to be protected by some kind of ethereal force batting away Donovan's spear before it even impacts his own, but the parry certainly helps. Advancing cautiously, Fayad lashes out with a flurry of pokes, each one neutralized by Donovan's defence thanks to their inexpert nature.
The artifact emits a flash of blinding light.
Donovan grunts, his eyes widening somewhat as an ethereal force deflects his spear before Fayad's does. He stands his ground - almost equally as inexpert, he spins his spear about, blocking Fayad's strikes before abruptly spinning the spear again to try and attack an exposed side at close range. He's neither quick enough nor subtle enough to land it, though, and the swing is parried, leaving them at a slightly uncomfortable distance for two spear-users.
Jordan switches tactics, speaking in a deeper, more confident voice as their words change style to a more ancient tongue. "Yglesiv Necasta, bigron geriss meclat. Congeerii melat, melak, meclat em mintes. Ogvimla esi esi, adampi ye yeshin. Lemmas nerim iglsev Yglesiv. Feri akum atem pedees. Ensatyum, menteris. ISGLAVERY UT UM!!" As they finish, they plant their hands on two specified circles, screaming as it all lights up. Their blood glows on the flow, flashing, then in waves, centered on the item, flaring.
Fayad yelps, distracted heavily by both whatever the hell Jordan is doing over there and Donovan's sudden close movement. He barely brings the shaft up to block, tense and close to Donovan, and then tries to break the clash with a jab with the middle of the spear upwards towards the chest or face.
With a final burst of power the curse on a golden bracelet is broken.