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Eliass Ghost Banishing 241007
On a somber afternoon in Arkwright Cemetery, amidst an air charged with otherworldly energy, Elias set out to banish a tumult of ghostly apparitions enacting their eternal warfare. With stormclouds above and the ground below trembling, spectral armies clashed, summoning elemental magics and ancient combat, heedless of the living ensnared in their midst. Elias, a modern-day shaman by his account, prepared a ritual with a white powder, aiming to quell the strife between these spirited warriors and witches. Novel, a somewhat eccentric companion, initially believed his ability to affect ghosts was a product of substance-induced prowess, only to realize the grave reality of their situation as he struggled against the ghostly vines pulling him into the fray.
The battle escalated rapidly, with Elias and Novel facing the direct threat not only from the combatants but from the very elements conjured by the spectral conflict. Elias, calmly invoking his knowledge on psychic manifestations and the profound power of blood, worked to establish a ritual circle, even as his efforts were hampered by the chaos around. Novel’s pragmatic approach, coupled with a certain disbelief in the mystical aspects, provided a stark contrast to Elias's methodical preparation. As Elias's blood seeped into the ritual wards, grounding the tempestuous spectacle, the ethereal armies began to dissipate, their energies spent. With a final gust clearing the remnants of battle, peace returned to the cemetery, leaving behind the signs of an unusual tumult now quelled through ancient rites and the determination of two unlikely allies against the echoes of battles long past.
(Elias's ghost banishing)
[Sun Oct 6 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 57F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
"Ghosts are psychic manifestations. Imprints of a living creature and their emotions. That is why ghosts are more likely to form from a violent death." Elias says as he reaches to his belt pouch, pulling out a pouch of white powder. Unlike his companion Novel, the powder in Elias's pouch is not drugs... well, he doesn't treat it like drugs anyway. He starts walking a slow circle, giving some distance pouring the circle onto the ground as a growing fog pours into the area as the warriors manifest, "Interesting though, it seems like these spirits are warriors caught in some kind of eternal struggle."
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Novel takes a momentary step back at the fog and rumble and then produces an exhale. "Oh, shit, really? Well that fucking explains why I can put a knife in them and when they realize I stab them they fold up and die. Or some shit. I thought it was just the power of crack." The man has... interesting beliefs. "Kind of fucking disappointing though, I thought I was a ghost stabber or some shit which would have been something sick to put on my r- FUCK ME." Said bowie knife comes out immediately, flashing light of metal hacking through spectral tangles as his left arm and legs are snared, struggling to get behind a tombstone and into lower cover.
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
"As you can see. this can be rather problematic when it happens in the center of a graveyard in a town where not everyone is aware. Depending, they can cause some damage." Elias says as he puts the pouch back onto is belt. Next the dark haired man reaches to his belt again, but this time pulling a bowie knife of his own from the sheath hanging there. However, Elias's remains completely calm as he doesn't seem bothered by the spirits, but more a mundane task like a professional crocodile handler might casually handle their wards. He pulls the blade across his palm, cutting into the flesh there which trails a thin line that wells up red as he continues to explain, "There different methodologies, but in my case. If I were born two thousand years ago, I would probably be called a Shaman, but I find that a bit antiquated. It is important to understand there is a difference between ghosts and spirits too. I call upon spirits of the elemental forces and they require a tribute. No power comes without a price. Many times it is paid in your own blood." And he squeezes his hand letting blood drip through his fist, dripping red liquid onto the ground.
"Yeah if they fuck shit up I can't get breakfast, it's really goddamn inconvenient. Why is the best butcher's in town right next to the cemetery?" Novel bitches, interacting with the spirits and mayhem and then - bwoosh at the fire, a tumbling, bouncing, sending him rolling across the grassy graves before he manages to catch himself behind one of the gravestones as he tries his best to hear Elias over the chaos and mayhem going around that he, somehow, has found himself in the middle of, casually cutting a ghost's throat that dissolving back into the mists curling around them. "And everyone has a weirdass fucking obsession with blood. Can't I just give them ten bucks and tell them to fuck off or do something for you? It's the same shit, anyway. You can buy blood for money. And vice-versa."
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
"Blood is essence of life." Elias states as he leaps back from a charging knight with a small puzzled look, "There is power in blood. Far more than some realize. There is a reason why it is used in forging artifacts, rituals, and even temples are built with it." When the explosion blows through, Elias raises a hand to try to shield himself from blast with an energy shield of magic, but it fails to stop it completely, causing his sleeve to burst into flame. The dark haired man grumbles, patting out his sleeve, "Damnit. I liked this shirt." He keeps working at the ritual circle to banish the spirits from this world, "I wonder where this battle happened. Somehow it doesn't feel like it was from earth." He shrugs a little noting, "But like I was saying, blood is important and that is why it carries so much value."
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Novel pats quickly at his hair that, frankly, would probably be improved by having much of it burned off and washed, though his blue jeans and leather jacket are far, far more resistant, though there's some definite singing here and there, sending plinks and placks of dirt and debris as he finally settles into cover. He moves like a trapping spider - keeping low, picking off spirits that get too close to Elias and mercilessly slitting their throat to disperse them, trying to keep the area around the man clears. "Neat. I always thought it was just fucking water with nutrients and shit in it, but good to know it has an actual fucking use. And I always thought the blood thing was a weird ass fetish."
As one of the headstones explodes, throwing shrapnel in Elias's and Novel's direction, the dark haired arcanist hurls back at it reflectively pulling up a heavy gust of wind throws the stone debris away from him. He looks over to Novel with a grin on his face and chuckles, "Well, why do you think vampires need blood? If it was just nutrients alone, they could just eat a steak and call it a day. No, there is essence in there, life force as it were." Brushing at his sleeves, Elias frowns as the battle carries on as his ritual keeps getting disrupted, even in part by his own gusts of wind as he goes back to his pouch, pouring more salt on the ground to reinforce his lines.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
"Fetish," Novel says, with feeling, repeating it to Elias as his cover suddenly explodes, groaning and bringing up a leather-clad arm to bounce the shrapnel from his form. "You would not BELIEVE the number of girls I know who like biting the shit out of people just because they can and now you tell me it's just because they have a thirst for my goddamn life force? Fucking awful," As he only pauses a moment to stab the ghostly conjurer in the thigh before scuttling off to a new form of cover, grass stains and mind bruises covering his body. "So shit, do vampires even need blood? Is the blood just a fucking medium for shit? Can you pour life force into a jar?"
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
When another gravestone explodes near him, Elias isn't ready for it this time and he ends up getting knocked off his feet peppered with small chips of stone sending his pouch of salt flying through the air. Blood wells through his white shirt as he grumbles, slowly sitting up and wincing. The wounds likely are superficial or he is a real trooper about all of this. When he pushes himself to his feet, more blood hits the ground. It starts to seep into the ritual wards that he has been working on, seeming to be absorbed oddly into the ground. He murmurs, "Good, they have accepted the tribute." And then he shifts his gray-blue eyes back to Novel, "Yes, they need blood. Without it they slowly wither and die. Life force harnessed in other ways, but it doesn't seem to absorb the same into the vampires system. I do think you do have a point. They likely do need some of the nutrients from it, but that essence in it seems to be one of the most important parts. Their system doesn't gain any benefit from consuming anything but blood." When the temperature plummets, the dark haired man grins as it does, "Well, this was one hell of a battle."
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.
The battle escalated rapidly, with Elias and Novel facing the direct threat not only from the combatants but from the very elements conjured by the spectral conflict. Elias, calmly invoking his knowledge on psychic manifestations and the profound power of blood, worked to establish a ritual circle, even as his efforts were hampered by the chaos around. Novel’s pragmatic approach, coupled with a certain disbelief in the mystical aspects, provided a stark contrast to Elias's methodical preparation. As Elias's blood seeped into the ritual wards, grounding the tempestuous spectacle, the ethereal armies began to dissipate, their energies spent. With a final gust clearing the remnants of battle, peace returned to the cemetery, leaving behind the signs of an unusual tumult now quelled through ancient rites and the determination of two unlikely allies against the echoes of battles long past.
(Elias's ghost banishing)
[Sun Oct 6 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 57F(13C) degrees, and there are a few dark grey stormclouds in the sky.
An eerie stillness settles over the graveyard, the fog thickening like an otherworldly veil. The ground trembles, and two ghostly armies surge forth, locked in a battle that defies time. One side, draped in ethereal armor, charges with spectral weapons, while the other hurls crackling bolts of elemental magic. The air is alight with haunting energy as the spirits, long dead, resume their eternal battle, heedless of the living who are caught in their spectral warpath.
"Ghosts are psychic manifestations. Imprints of a living creature and their emotions. That is why ghosts are more likely to form from a violent death." Elias says as he reaches to his belt pouch, pulling out a pouch of white powder. Unlike his companion Novel, the powder in Elias's pouch is not drugs... well, he doesn't treat it like drugs anyway. He starts walking a slow circle, giving some distance pouring the circle onto the ground as a growing fog pours into the area as the warriors manifest, "Interesting though, it seems like these spirits are warriors caught in some kind of eternal struggle."
As the ground quakes with the stomp of spectral soldiers, a coven of phantom witches weaves spells that entangle the giants in thorny vines. The living are ensnared as well, ghostly vines tearing through the earth to wrap around their limbs, attempting to drag them down.
Novel takes a momentary step back at the fog and rumble and then produces an exhale. "Oh, shit, really? Well that fucking explains why I can put a knife in them and when they realize I stab them they fold up and die. Or some shit. I thought it was just the power of crack." The man has... interesting beliefs. "Kind of fucking disappointing though, I thought I was a ghost stabber or some shit which would have been something sick to put on my r- FUCK ME." Said bowie knife comes out immediately, flashing light of metal hacking through spectral tangles as his left arm and legs are snared, struggling to get behind a tombstone and into lower cover.
A ghostly battlemage hurls a ball of fire, deflected mid-air by a phantom knight's shield, causing an explosion that sends searing heat and blinding light across the battlefield.
"As you can see. this can be rather problematic when it happens in the center of a graveyard in a town where not everyone is aware. Depending, they can cause some damage." Elias says as he puts the pouch back onto is belt. Next the dark haired man reaches to his belt again, but this time pulling a bowie knife of his own from the sheath hanging there. However, Elias's remains completely calm as he doesn't seem bothered by the spirits, but more a mundane task like a professional crocodile handler might casually handle their wards. He pulls the blade across his palm, cutting into the flesh there which trails a thin line that wells up red as he continues to explain, "There different methodologies, but in my case. If I were born two thousand years ago, I would probably be called a Shaman, but I find that a bit antiquated. It is important to understand there is a difference between ghosts and spirits too. I call upon spirits of the elemental forces and they require a tribute. No power comes without a price. Many times it is paid in your own blood." And he squeezes his hand letting blood drip through his fist, dripping red liquid onto the ground.
"Yeah if they fuck shit up I can't get breakfast, it's really goddamn inconvenient. Why is the best butcher's in town right next to the cemetery?" Novel bitches, interacting with the spirits and mayhem and then - bwoosh at the fire, a tumbling, bouncing, sending him rolling across the grassy graves before he manages to catch himself behind one of the gravestones as he tries his best to hear Elias over the chaos and mayhem going around that he, somehow, has found himself in the middle of, casually cutting a ghost's throat that dissolving back into the mists curling around them. "And everyone has a weirdass fucking obsession with blood. Can't I just give them ten bucks and tell them to fuck off or do something for you? It's the same shit, anyway. You can buy blood for money. And vice-versa."
A phalanx of ghostly knights charges forward, their spectral lances aimed at a line of mages, who summon a wall of fire in a desperate attempt to halt the advance. The resulting explosion sends waves of heat blasting throughout the graveyard, setting plants and clothing on fire.
"Blood is essence of life." Elias states as he leaps back from a charging knight with a small puzzled look, "There is power in blood. Far more than some realize. There is a reason why it is used in forging artifacts, rituals, and even temples are built with it." When the explosion blows through, Elias raises a hand to try to shield himself from blast with an energy shield of magic, but it fails to stop it completely, causing his sleeve to burst into flame. The dark haired man grumbles, patting out his sleeve, "Damnit. I liked this shirt." He keeps working at the ritual circle to banish the spirits from this world, "I wonder where this battle happened. Somehow it doesn't feel like it was from earth." He shrugs a little noting, "But like I was saying, blood is important and that is why it carries so much value."
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
Novel pats quickly at his hair that, frankly, would probably be improved by having much of it burned off and washed, though his blue jeans and leather jacket are far, far more resistant, though there's some definite singing here and there, sending plinks and placks of dirt and debris as he finally settles into cover. He moves like a trapping spider - keeping low, picking off spirits that get too close to Elias and mercilessly slitting their throat to disperse them, trying to keep the area around the man clears. "Neat. I always thought it was just fucking water with nutrients and shit in it, but good to know it has an actual fucking use. And I always thought the blood thing was a weird ass fetish."
As one of the headstones explodes, throwing shrapnel in Elias's and Novel's direction, the dark haired arcanist hurls back at it reflectively pulling up a heavy gust of wind throws the stone debris away from him. He looks over to Novel with a grin on his face and chuckles, "Well, why do you think vampires need blood? If it was just nutrients alone, they could just eat a steak and call it a day. No, there is essence in there, life force as it were." Brushing at his sleeves, Elias frowns as the battle carries on as his ritual keeps getting disrupted, even in part by his own gusts of wind as he goes back to his pouch, pouring more salt on the ground to reinforce his lines.
A towering, spectral knight swings his sword at a ghostly conjurer, cutting the arcanist in half and continuing onwards to collide against a gravestone. The collision smashes the gravestone apart, sending shards flying all around dangerously.
"Fetish," Novel says, with feeling, repeating it to Elias as his cover suddenly explodes, groaning and bringing up a leather-clad arm to bounce the shrapnel from his form. "You would not BELIEVE the number of girls I know who like biting the shit out of people just because they can and now you tell me it's just because they have a thirst for my goddamn life force? Fucking awful," As he only pauses a moment to stab the ghostly conjurer in the thigh before scuttling off to a new form of cover, grass stains and mind bruises covering his body. "So shit, do vampires even need blood? Is the blood just a fucking medium for shit? Can you pour life force into a jar?"
A group of ethereal berserkers charge, only to be met by a rain of icy shards summoned by frost mancers. The temperature plummets, and living breath freezes in the air, while ice forms treacherous patches beneath the feet, threatening to send everyone sprawling upon the ground.
When another gravestone explodes near him, Elias isn't ready for it this time and he ends up getting knocked off his feet peppered with small chips of stone sending his pouch of salt flying through the air. Blood wells through his white shirt as he grumbles, slowly sitting up and wincing. The wounds likely are superficial or he is a real trooper about all of this. When he pushes himself to his feet, more blood hits the ground. It starts to seep into the ritual wards that he has been working on, seeming to be absorbed oddly into the ground. He murmurs, "Good, they have accepted the tribute." And then he shifts his gray-blue eyes back to Novel, "Yes, they need blood. Without it they slowly wither and die. Life force harnessed in other ways, but it doesn't seem to absorb the same into the vampires system. I do think you do have a point. They likely do need some of the nutrients from it, but that essence in it seems to be one of the most important parts. Their system doesn't gain any benefit from consuming anything but blood." When the temperature plummets, the dark haired man grins as it does, "Well, this was one hell of a battle."
A sudden gust of wind sweeps through the graveyard, scattering the remnants of battle - ashes, shattered stones, and burned foliage - until all that's left is an unsettling calm. The ghostly combatants begin to falter, their spectral forms flickering like dying embers. One by one, they retreat into the earth, their energy spent, until the graveyard is once again quiet.