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Fayads Ghost Banishing 240906
In the ghost-infested battlegrounds of Arkwright Cemetery, where spectral armies clash with elemental might, Fayad, a diminutive yet dignified figure, steps forth to confront the chaos. Clad in simple attire but wielding a powerful gauntlet, he begins a delicate ritual to draw the spirits into a peaceful rest. Around him, the graveyard resonates with the ethereal war, the ground quaking and fires igniting as phantom knights and mages battle fiercely. Despite the turmoil, Fayad remains focused, channeling his energies through incantations and the mystical artifacts at his disposal, including a red dragonscale pendant and a nightmare charm. His efforts to contain the spectral violence highlight a stark contrast between his humble appearance and the magnitude of his task. As Fayad works to weave a magical containment, the ghostly hostilities start to subside, signaling a temporary respite from the eternal conflict.
However, this moment of triumph is abruptly interrupted by Konstantin, a figure of imposing strength, who seizes Fayad with a threatening air of retribution for past grievances. Accompanied by Rachel, a mysterious figure tasked with subduing the remaining spirits, they corner Fayad, demanding blood as compensation. Rachel, showcasing her own formidable powers, quells the magical fires and wrestles the spirits into submission, her hunger for conflict evident. Caught in a precarious situation, Fayad is forced to kneel, yet he resists fully surrendering control of his ritual, hinting at the depth of his commitment to his cause. Despite the immediate danger posed by Konstantin and Rachel’s aggressive negotiation for power and retribution, Fayad's resilience and strategic defiance underscore the complexity of alliances and enmities within this unearthly confrontation.
(Fayad's ghost banishing)
[Thu Sep 5 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 77F(25C) degrees,
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.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
As Fayad steps into the graveyard, the palpable weight of the spectral conflict hangs heavily in the air. The scene before him is nothing short of a chaotic maelstrom of ghostly warfare: two armies of the dead clash in a timeless struggle, their movements an eerie ballet of ethereal might and elemental fury. The fog, thick as sorrow, swirls around their combat, casting an almost dreamlike veil over the ancient resting place. Fayad, standing at a mere five feet tall, appears an incongruous figure against this backdrop of spectral chaos. His physical form, though small, carries a certain grace that belies his staturea long, slender neck that gives him an almost swan-like poise. The contrast between the fragility of his appearance and the harsh reality of the scene is striking. His presence, though seemingly insignificant, is imbued with a peculiar gravitas as he prepares to confront the spirits. Dressed in a white t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the Great News Community Center, the simple garment clings to him like a barrier between his mundane reality and the arcane energies at play. The tactical military goggles perched on his brow offer him a practical shield against the blinding bursts of spectral light and elemental magic that erupt from the battle. His Levi's denim jeans and Adidas "Superstar" low-tops, though seemingly ordinary, are a testament to his readiness for the fieldsturdy, unassuming, and reliable. Yet it is the gauntlet he wears, a gleaming, red dragon's claw, that commands the most attention. This magnificent piece, with its intricate scales and fearsome design, signifies his role as a border council member with authority and power that transcends his physical form. The gauntlet, though a symbol of his strength, also serves a practical purpose in this moment. Fayad's left forearm, marred by heavy burn scars and ending in a withered, claw-like hand, contrasts starkly with the gauntlet's pristine brilliance. The withered hand, a grotesque remnant of past trials, seems almost to tremble in anticipation of the task ahead. The air crackles with an electrifying tension as Fayad raises his delicate, dainty right hand, starkly contrasting his burned left. With a gentle motion, he taps the gauntlet at his left side, activating it as he raises the talons into the air. Fayad begins to chant softly, Fayad's voice almost lost in the howling winds of the graveyard. His incantations are a blend of ancient languages and modern technomagic, designed to harness the power of his red dragon's claw gauntlet and the red dragonscale pendant that rest against his chest. The pendant, a small but potent charm, pulses rhythmically with an inner flame, casting a warm glow that cuts through the surrounding fog. Around Fayad's neck, the circular bone charmetched with a web in its centerswings gently with his movements. Thisnightmare charm, a personal totem of protection and balance, becomes a focal point in Fayad's ritual. The charms web-like design signifies Fayad's attempt to ensnare and neutralize the spirits' energy, capturing it within an ethereal net of force. With each incantation, Fayads actions are precise and deliberate. He uses the gauntlet to direct powerful, pulsating streams of energy toward the ghosts, weaving his hands in intricate patterns that shape and direct the magical currents. His touch on the strands of arcana is deft and practiced, sending bursts of counter-spells and protective wards into the fray. The combination of these elementsa tactile blend of old and newcreates a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. As the ghostly armies continue their timeless battle, Fayad stands resolute at the epicenter of this spectral storm. His presence, though small, exudes an air of controlled authority. The intense heat of his burn scars contrasts sharply with the cool, calculated precision of his magic. The juxtaposition of his delicate right hand against the gauntlets fierce claw symbolizes the balance he must maintain between strength and subtlety, between past pain and present power.
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
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.
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Slowly, the energies Fayad wields begin to coalesce, drawing the spirits' attention away from their conflict and into the intricate web of his spell. The once chaotic battlefield starts to quiet, the spectral armies wavering as they are drawn into the containment Fayad has crafted. The fog begins to lift, revealing the graveyard in its eerie, serene state, as the restless spirits are gently guided toward their final, peaceful rest. At least until the armies decide to clash again, anyway..
Konstantin thunders into the area as the spiritual confluence subsides, servos whining and hydraulics clicking as he closes the distance. Immediately, the russian grips, seizing him by the neck and one wrist. He has hold of him, but has yet to pin or immobilise Fayad.
"Fayad", Konstantin growls, looming over his victim-to-be, "How nice to find you here." His gaze snaps aside to Rachel and he calls out; "handle these fucking ghosts. I am going to tend to our boy."
Looking down at Fayad again, Konstantin tugs him closer to himself with an upnod; "I am here for a little blood. Nothing major. Least you can give me after your idiots make trouble for me in Hell. Be a good boy and I wont hurt you more, da?"
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.
Rachel steps in, shadows hugging at her heels. Already, when Konstantin asks - or demands - they've slithered away from her. An incantation sends them whipping for those lances, tugging them out of hands and casting them aside. The fire is next, the flame on each blade of grass flickering out one, by one, by one. An exhale of smoke remains, kissing the sky.
"I'm hungry," Rachel remarks aside to Konstantin -- but still, she maintains her task.
Fayad grimaces, attempting to turn his face away from the explosion as he's taken off-guard by Konstantin and Rachel. "Fuck," he grumbles. "I know you can get as much blood as you need. Just a 'fuck you', I guess. Fine. Whatever. I'll invest in eyes in the back of my head for next time," he sighs. "Just - don't move my hand or it'll fuck up my ritual. I'm congealing their ectoplasm to destroy them all in one great pyroclasm."
Rachel steps in, shadows hugging at her heels. Already, when Konstantin asks - or demands - they've slithered away from her. An incantation sends them whipping for those lances, tugging them out of hands and casting them aside. The fire is next, the flame on each blade of grass flickering out one, by one, by one. An exhale of smoke remains, kissing the sky.
"I'm hungry," Rachel remarks aside to Konstantin -- but still, she maintains her task. (re for Fayad)
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Looking over to Rachel and considering her statement, Konstantin nods slowly, gaze then turning back on Fayad. "Rachel wants a little more than blood. I'm going to be nice though. Kneel down, hands behind back. She will take over giving spiritgasm or musclespasm or whatever it is you are doing", Konstantin instructs Fayad. His grips on the smaller man tighten to the point of painful pressure; his fingers supported by the segmented fingerpieces that make up his gauntlets.
Fayad grits his teeth as he's forced down, but his normal hand obeys while his draconic gauntlet disobeys. He doesn't seem to trust Rachel with taking over just yet, the heat haze around his impending pyromancy evident even to an untrained eye.
Fayad says "So that's her name, huh...?"
Rachel grimaces at Konstantin. Unfair that she should toil, only to be denied the fruits of her labor. It's a testament to her loyalty that, all the same, she proceeds. From somewhere about her upper body, light starts to suck inward, consumed with voracity. It re-emerges, pooling like mist to wend through the cracks of formed by that earthquake, until it finds the necks of those mages, and the cavalry. She takes no sides, seeking to strangle whomever she can. Some vanquish by affording ghosts peace -- Rachel might favor war.
"She," Rachel says to Fayad, "Can hear you." She might be busy, but her attention can be turned. And as she'd said before, she's hungry.
However, this moment of triumph is abruptly interrupted by Konstantin, a figure of imposing strength, who seizes Fayad with a threatening air of retribution for past grievances. Accompanied by Rachel, a mysterious figure tasked with subduing the remaining spirits, they corner Fayad, demanding blood as compensation. Rachel, showcasing her own formidable powers, quells the magical fires and wrestles the spirits into submission, her hunger for conflict evident. Caught in a precarious situation, Fayad is forced to kneel, yet he resists fully surrendering control of his ritual, hinting at the depth of his commitment to his cause. Despite the immediate danger posed by Konstantin and Rachel’s aggressive negotiation for power and retribution, Fayad's resilience and strategic defiance underscore the complexity of alliances and enmities within this unearthly confrontation.
(Fayad's ghost banishing)
[Thu Sep 5 2024]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is afternoon, about 77F(25C) degrees,
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.
The air thickens with an unnatural fog as ghostly archers let loose a volley of arrows. The projectiles are swept away by a whirlwind conjured by spectral windcallers, and the gust of wind sends everyone alive flying against tombstones with bone-jarring force.
As Fayad steps into the graveyard, the palpable weight of the spectral conflict hangs heavily in the air. The scene before him is nothing short of a chaotic maelstrom of ghostly warfare: two armies of the dead clash in a timeless struggle, their movements an eerie ballet of ethereal might and elemental fury. The fog, thick as sorrow, swirls around their combat, casting an almost dreamlike veil over the ancient resting place. Fayad, standing at a mere five feet tall, appears an incongruous figure against this backdrop of spectral chaos. His physical form, though small, carries a certain grace that belies his staturea long, slender neck that gives him an almost swan-like poise. The contrast between the fragility of his appearance and the harsh reality of the scene is striking. His presence, though seemingly insignificant, is imbued with a peculiar gravitas as he prepares to confront the spirits. Dressed in a white t-shirt emblazoned with the logo of the Great News Community Center, the simple garment clings to him like a barrier between his mundane reality and the arcane energies at play. The tactical military goggles perched on his brow offer him a practical shield against the blinding bursts of spectral light and elemental magic that erupt from the battle. His Levi's denim jeans and Adidas "Superstar" low-tops, though seemingly ordinary, are a testament to his readiness for the fieldsturdy, unassuming, and reliable. Yet it is the gauntlet he wears, a gleaming, red dragon's claw, that commands the most attention. This magnificent piece, with its intricate scales and fearsome design, signifies his role as a border council member with authority and power that transcends his physical form. The gauntlet, though a symbol of his strength, also serves a practical purpose in this moment. Fayad's left forearm, marred by heavy burn scars and ending in a withered, claw-like hand, contrasts starkly with the gauntlet's pristine brilliance. The withered hand, a grotesque remnant of past trials, seems almost to tremble in anticipation of the task ahead. The air crackles with an electrifying tension as Fayad raises his delicate, dainty right hand, starkly contrasting his burned left. With a gentle motion, he taps the gauntlet at his left side, activating it as he raises the talons into the air. Fayad begins to chant softly, Fayad's voice almost lost in the howling winds of the graveyard. His incantations are a blend of ancient languages and modern technomagic, designed to harness the power of his red dragon's claw gauntlet and the red dragonscale pendant that rest against his chest. The pendant, a small but potent charm, pulses rhythmically with an inner flame, casting a warm glow that cuts through the surrounding fog. Around Fayad's neck, the circular bone charmetched with a web in its centerswings gently with his movements. Thisnightmare charm, a personal totem of protection and balance, becomes a focal point in Fayad's ritual. The charms web-like design signifies Fayad's attempt to ensnare and neutralize the spirits' energy, capturing it within an ethereal net of force. With each incantation, Fayads actions are precise and deliberate. He uses the gauntlet to direct powerful, pulsating streams of energy toward the ghosts, weaving his hands in intricate patterns that shape and direct the magical currents. His touch on the strands of arcana is deft and practiced, sending bursts of counter-spells and protective wards into the fray. The combination of these elementsa tactile blend of old and newcreates a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. As the ghostly armies continue their timeless battle, Fayad stands resolute at the epicenter of this spectral storm. His presence, though small, exudes an air of controlled authority. The intense heat of his burn scars contrasts sharply with the cool, calculated precision of his magic. The juxtaposition of his delicate right hand against the gauntlets fierce claw symbolizes the balance he must maintain between strength and subtlety, between past pain and present power.
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
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.
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Slowly, the energies Fayad wields begin to coalesce, drawing the spirits' attention away from their conflict and into the intricate web of his spell. The once chaotic battlefield starts to quiet, the spectral armies wavering as they are drawn into the containment Fayad has crafted. The fog begins to lift, revealing the graveyard in its eerie, serene state, as the restless spirits are gently guided toward their final, peaceful rest. At least until the armies decide to clash again, anyway..
Konstantin thunders into the area as the spiritual confluence subsides, servos whining and hydraulics clicking as he closes the distance. Immediately, the russian grips, seizing him by the neck and one wrist. He has hold of him, but has yet to pin or immobilise Fayad.
"Fayad", Konstantin growls, looming over his victim-to-be, "How nice to find you here." His gaze snaps aside to Rachel and he calls out; "handle these fucking ghosts. I am going to tend to our boy."
Looking down at Fayad again, Konstantin tugs him closer to himself with an upnod; "I am here for a little blood. Nothing major. Least you can give me after your idiots make trouble for me in Hell. Be a good boy and I wont hurt you more, da?"
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.
Rachel steps in, shadows hugging at her heels. Already, when Konstantin asks - or demands - they've slithered away from her. An incantation sends them whipping for those lances, tugging them out of hands and casting them aside. The fire is next, the flame on each blade of grass flickering out one, by one, by one. An exhale of smoke remains, kissing the sky.
"I'm hungry," Rachel remarks aside to Konstantin -- but still, she maintains her task.
Fayad grimaces, attempting to turn his face away from the explosion as he's taken off-guard by Konstantin and Rachel. "Fuck," he grumbles. "I know you can get as much blood as you need. Just a 'fuck you', I guess. Fine. Whatever. I'll invest in eyes in the back of my head for next time," he sighs. "Just - don't move my hand or it'll fuck up my ritual. I'm congealing their ectoplasm to destroy them all in one great pyroclasm."
Rachel steps in, shadows hugging at her heels. Already, when Konstantin asks - or demands - they've slithered away from her. An incantation sends them whipping for those lances, tugging them out of hands and casting them aside. The fire is next, the flame on each blade of grass flickering out one, by one, by one. An exhale of smoke remains, kissing the sky.
"I'm hungry," Rachel remarks aside to Konstantin -- but still, she maintains her task. (re for Fayad)
Spectral war drums pound as cavalry specters sweep in from the flank, met by a line of phantom nature mages who attempt to pull at the soil beneath their feet. The clash shakes the ground, causing cracks to appear underfoot and sending the living stumbling as the earth heaves.
Looking over to Rachel and considering her statement, Konstantin nods slowly, gaze then turning back on Fayad. "Rachel wants a little more than blood. I'm going to be nice though. Kneel down, hands behind back. She will take over giving spiritgasm or musclespasm or whatever it is you are doing", Konstantin instructs Fayad. His grips on the smaller man tighten to the point of painful pressure; his fingers supported by the segmented fingerpieces that make up his gauntlets.
Fayad grits his teeth as he's forced down, but his normal hand obeys while his draconic gauntlet disobeys. He doesn't seem to trust Rachel with taking over just yet, the heat haze around his impending pyromancy evident even to an untrained eye.
Fayad says "So that's her name, huh...?"
Rachel grimaces at Konstantin. Unfair that she should toil, only to be denied the fruits of her labor. It's a testament to her loyalty that, all the same, she proceeds. From somewhere about her upper body, light starts to suck inward, consumed with voracity. It re-emerges, pooling like mist to wend through the cracks of formed by that earthquake, until it finds the necks of those mages, and the cavalry. She takes no sides, seeking to strangle whomever she can. Some vanquish by affording ghosts peace -- Rachel might favor war.
"She," Rachel says to Fayad, "Can hear you." She might be busy, but her attention can be turned. And as she'd said before, she's hungry.