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Lanaeiss Ghost Banishing 250415
On an eerily quiet night at Arkwright Cemetery, amidst a thick fog and the tremors of the ground, two ghostly armies emerged to continue their timeless battle. Spectral warriors clad in ethereal armor clashed with mages wielding elemental magic, illuminating the night with their ethereal light. Amidst this spectral chaos, Sam and Lanaeis, a ghost sporting wings of golden fire, prepared for a magical ritual. Sam, drawing blood from Lanaeis rather than himself, began to form a triangle of blood around him, activating a charred dragon ring that started to hum softly, initiating the banishment process. Lanaeis, showing no pain and maintaining a protective stance over Sam, offered his support against the elemental onslaught, preparing to herd the ghostly entities into the triangle.
As the specters' battle intensified with icy spells and thorny vines entangling the living, Sam and Lanaeis struggled to maintain their footing and continue the ritual. Lanaeis, unyielding, tore through the ghostly vines and stood as a bastion against the winds that sought to throw them against the tombstones. At Sam’s behest, Lanaeis propelled himself into action, driving the spectral warriors towards the blood triangle with a fury of golden and black wings. As Sam completed the banishing rite with a final stroke of his knife, a shadowy vacuum formed, sucking in the nearby specters until a sudden gust of wind cleared the battlefield. The ghostly armies faltered and vanished into the earth, leaving behind a quiet cemetery, thus concluding their relentless battle and bringing peace to the troubled grounds.
(Lanaeis's ghost banishing)
[Mon Apr 14 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 54F(12C) degrees, and the sky is covered by thin white clouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
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.
Immediately, Sam gets to work. He carefully draws some blood from his palm with the knife, tucking his phone away after a final text.
"I'll do a basic banishing. I do not think doing anything big is going to be healthy for me." He shudders, his hands still trembling lightly.
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.
"Pleasure to serve, Almighty One." Lanaeis gives Sam a mock salute as spectral wings of golden fire shot through with black erupt from his back. In a moment, Lanaeis is standing over Sam, offering his wrist. "Take what you need. I'll find Loralia later if its needed." Lanaeis says, keeping one eye on the armies. As the fireball erupts, he is suddenly between the brunt of the blast and Sam, back to it to absorb the force behind the blast of searing heat.
A rough chuckle, and Sam takes that wrist, slashing that blade of his across it as he forms a rough triangle of blood around himself. He nods slowly, seemingly quite relieved not to need to extract the toll from himself.
A soft glow comes from the ring around one of Sam's fingers: A charred dragon biting it's own tail. The faint smell of metal... iron? fills the air as red runes glow onto that ring, and the triangle starts to hum softly, like a strange kind of beacon.
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.
Fingers curling around his Cross, the spectral wings begin to glow brighter, black veins of fire pulsating eerily within the gold and casting ghoulish shadows behind and around him. As the blood is extracted, there is not even a flinch from Lanaeis, and he waits, continuing to allow his body to be used as a font from which blood can be extracted for the ritual. While the work is being done on the triangle, Lanaeis's eyes flicker to the armies, tracking there progress. As the earth roils and rolls underfoot, Lanaeis jumps just enough to keep himself from falling, landing back on the ground lightly and steadying Sam if necessary with a free hand. As he does, his glances towards the armies grow more and more frequent.
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.
The support certainly seems welcomed, and Sam barely manages to remain upright by virtue of it. More blood is added to the humming triangle, and the light around the both of them flickers, shadows dancing in the reddish glow of Sam's triangle.
"More..." He mutters, and he takes that knife again to Lanaeis's skin. The jock then hits the deck, shards of ice flying overhead.
A rough chuckle, and Sam takes that wrist, slashing that blade of his across it as he forms a rough triangle of blood around himself. He nods slowly, seemingly quite relieved not to need to extract the toll from himself.
A soft glow comes from the ring around one of Sam's fingers: A charred dragon biting it's own tail. The faint smell of metal... iron? fills the air as red runes glow onto that ring, and the triangle starts to hum softly, like a strange kind of beacon. (repost)
Eyes tracking the movements of the cryomancer spirits, Lanaeis's wings suddenly snap inwards, heat rushing in from all sides and driving back the chill of the icy magic, frost forming and melting immediately as the heat from Lanaeis's fiery wings pushes away the bite of the cold. A shiver does run through Lanaeis's body, fingers tightening as he feels not the icy touch of the cryomancy, but something... off. It sets his teeth on edge, and his skin visibly pimples with goosebumps. However, the only comment made to Sam is "Strange magic you have." before again his wings have spread wide, shedding embers as they go.
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.
A chuckle. It's not mocking Lanaeis, so much so the situation perhaps.
"Blame Bastet." Sam now presses his hands against that triangle, hissing softly as the jock's face is sprayed with molten icicles, before he shifts, clearly not noticing several vines starting to close in on him.
As soon as the vines try to grip Lanaeis's arms, they are torn uncaringly from the ground, tossed back at their makers as Lanaeis rips free of the confines. Noticing similar creepers trying to make Sam their hostage as well, he kneels, tearing the vines from Sam or simply uprooting them before they can reach Sam. His head does tilt, once, when he hears a strange voice, but he seems to ignore it. Until it comes again. Then his eyes are panning around, trying to find its source.
A nod of thanks and Sam looks over that triangle. Carefully, he restores the pattern, and he turns his eyes towards Lanaeis. "In a bit, when I'm ready, can you.... herd them into the triangle, please?" His eyes narrow as the angel turns his head.
"Ya with me, feathers?"
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.
Then Lanaeis's confusion seems to fade, a hand tapping against his cross, then past it to his chest as he gives a nod, straightening to his full height and turning to gaze out over the battlefield of spirits. For a moment, one wing twitches forward, but then it resettles, becoming little more than the projection it was the whole time. Though for that brief instant, it had seemed more real. More tangible. "On it." Lanaeis says, eyes surveying the ghosts but a thumbs up given to Sam. "All of them in the circle. With you? Or do you need to have time to get out?"
Just as Lanaeis finishes speaking, he is slammed by the wind, staggering but not falling entirely, one hand driving to the ground as he falls to one knee, then back up he goes, standing like a wall between Sam and the tombstones. If he's hitting those stones, he's going through Lanaeis to do it.
WHOOSH. Sam certainly is lifted off his feet, his body seemingly still somewhat weakened from earlier. He SLAMS into Lanaeis, who, most likely, can catch him easily. The jock has mass, but it's clearly from a well balanced diet.
A hiss, and Sam goes back to the triangle. He stabs that knife into one corner, bringing the blade down slowly. "When I reach the opposide side, herd them in. I don't wanna keep it open too long."
Catching Sam and setting him back down, Lanaeis nods at the instructions, crouching as he readies himself to spring into action, eyes focused on the spirits as he also seems to track Sam's progress somehow based on the twitch of his fingers as if counting down along with the circle being opened.
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.
Carefully, Sam slides that knife across the triangle, and in it's wake, a shadow follows. He draws carefully towards the middle, his hand stops. Vines.
He growls, tugging on the spectral vines, and while the jock certainly seems to have the strength, it's slowing him down.
Carefully, Sam slides that knife across the triangle, and in it's wake, a shadow follows. He draws carefully towards the middle, his hand stops. Vines.
He growls, tugging on the spectral vines, and while the jock certainly seems to have the strength, it's slowing him down. (repost)
Immediately leaps into action as the banishing circle begins to opened. For a moment, he's there, and then, he's streaking through the air, landing on the far side of the spirits and avoiding the vines altogether. While unarmed, his work is no less efficient, as in a moment, gold mixed with black begins tearing into the spirits, a whirlwind of spectral wings and nearly blurred movements driving against the spirits, sending them back towards the triangle as it continues to slowly open. Though they are moving, it seems Lanaeis is watching Sam's progress, as the spirits don't come flooding in immediately, instead being held back until Sam manages to fully open the circle for the ghostly warriors.
With a final PULL, Sam finishes the rite, and a hiss escapes the shadows that now ooze into the shape. Like a vaccuum, the bloody triangle starts to suck in nearby specters. Sam's hand keeps that blade in place, and his eyes gleam a little behind those glasses. He nods his head. "Good!"
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.
As the specters' battle intensified with icy spells and thorny vines entangling the living, Sam and Lanaeis struggled to maintain their footing and continue the ritual. Lanaeis, unyielding, tore through the ghostly vines and stood as a bastion against the winds that sought to throw them against the tombstones. At Sam’s behest, Lanaeis propelled himself into action, driving the spectral warriors towards the blood triangle with a fury of golden and black wings. As Sam completed the banishing rite with a final stroke of his knife, a shadowy vacuum formed, sucking in the nearby specters until a sudden gust of wind cleared the battlefield. The ghostly armies faltered and vanished into the earth, leaving behind a quiet cemetery, thus concluding their relentless battle and bringing peace to the troubled grounds.
(Lanaeis's ghost banishing)
[Mon Apr 14 2025]
On the Sprawling Hillside of Arkwright Cemetery
It is night, about 54F(12C) degrees, and the sky is covered by thin white clouds. There is a waning gibbous moon.
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.
Immediately, Sam gets to work. He carefully draws some blood from his palm with the knife, tucking his phone away after a final text.
"I'll do a basic banishing. I do not think doing anything big is going to be healthy for me." He shudders, his hands still trembling lightly.
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.
"Pleasure to serve, Almighty One." Lanaeis gives Sam a mock salute as spectral wings of golden fire shot through with black erupt from his back. In a moment, Lanaeis is standing over Sam, offering his wrist. "Take what you need. I'll find Loralia later if its needed." Lanaeis says, keeping one eye on the armies. As the fireball erupts, he is suddenly between the brunt of the blast and Sam, back to it to absorb the force behind the blast of searing heat.
A rough chuckle, and Sam takes that wrist, slashing that blade of his across it as he forms a rough triangle of blood around himself. He nods slowly, seemingly quite relieved not to need to extract the toll from himself.
A soft glow comes from the ring around one of Sam's fingers: A charred dragon biting it's own tail. The faint smell of metal... iron? fills the air as red runes glow onto that ring, and the triangle starts to hum softly, like a strange kind of beacon.
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.
Fingers curling around his Cross, the spectral wings begin to glow brighter, black veins of fire pulsating eerily within the gold and casting ghoulish shadows behind and around him. As the blood is extracted, there is not even a flinch from Lanaeis, and he waits, continuing to allow his body to be used as a font from which blood can be extracted for the ritual. While the work is being done on the triangle, Lanaeis's eyes flicker to the armies, tracking there progress. As the earth roils and rolls underfoot, Lanaeis jumps just enough to keep himself from falling, landing back on the ground lightly and steadying Sam if necessary with a free hand. As he does, his glances towards the armies grow more and more frequent.
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.
The support certainly seems welcomed, and Sam barely manages to remain upright by virtue of it. More blood is added to the humming triangle, and the light around the both of them flickers, shadows dancing in the reddish glow of Sam's triangle.
"More..." He mutters, and he takes that knife again to Lanaeis's skin. The jock then hits the deck, shards of ice flying overhead.
A rough chuckle, and Sam takes that wrist, slashing that blade of his across it as he forms a rough triangle of blood around himself. He nods slowly, seemingly quite relieved not to need to extract the toll from himself.
A soft glow comes from the ring around one of Sam's fingers: A charred dragon biting it's own tail. The faint smell of metal... iron? fills the air as red runes glow onto that ring, and the triangle starts to hum softly, like a strange kind of beacon. (repost)
Eyes tracking the movements of the cryomancer spirits, Lanaeis's wings suddenly snap inwards, heat rushing in from all sides and driving back the chill of the icy magic, frost forming and melting immediately as the heat from Lanaeis's fiery wings pushes away the bite of the cold. A shiver does run through Lanaeis's body, fingers tightening as he feels not the icy touch of the cryomancy, but something... off. It sets his teeth on edge, and his skin visibly pimples with goosebumps. However, the only comment made to Sam is "Strange magic you have." before again his wings have spread wide, shedding embers as they go.
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.
A chuckle. It's not mocking Lanaeis, so much so the situation perhaps.
"Blame Bastet." Sam now presses his hands against that triangle, hissing softly as the jock's face is sprayed with molten icicles, before he shifts, clearly not noticing several vines starting to close in on him.
As soon as the vines try to grip Lanaeis's arms, they are torn uncaringly from the ground, tossed back at their makers as Lanaeis rips free of the confines. Noticing similar creepers trying to make Sam their hostage as well, he kneels, tearing the vines from Sam or simply uprooting them before they can reach Sam. His head does tilt, once, when he hears a strange voice, but he seems to ignore it. Until it comes again. Then his eyes are panning around, trying to find its source.
A nod of thanks and Sam looks over that triangle. Carefully, he restores the pattern, and he turns his eyes towards Lanaeis. "In a bit, when I'm ready, can you.... herd them into the triangle, please?" His eyes narrow as the angel turns his head.
"Ya with me, feathers?"
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.
Then Lanaeis's confusion seems to fade, a hand tapping against his cross, then past it to his chest as he gives a nod, straightening to his full height and turning to gaze out over the battlefield of spirits. For a moment, one wing twitches forward, but then it resettles, becoming little more than the projection it was the whole time. Though for that brief instant, it had seemed more real. More tangible. "On it." Lanaeis says, eyes surveying the ghosts but a thumbs up given to Sam. "All of them in the circle. With you? Or do you need to have time to get out?"
Just as Lanaeis finishes speaking, he is slammed by the wind, staggering but not falling entirely, one hand driving to the ground as he falls to one knee, then back up he goes, standing like a wall between Sam and the tombstones. If he's hitting those stones, he's going through Lanaeis to do it.
WHOOSH. Sam certainly is lifted off his feet, his body seemingly still somewhat weakened from earlier. He SLAMS into Lanaeis, who, most likely, can catch him easily. The jock has mass, but it's clearly from a well balanced diet.
A hiss, and Sam goes back to the triangle. He stabs that knife into one corner, bringing the blade down slowly. "When I reach the opposide side, herd them in. I don't wanna keep it open too long."
Catching Sam and setting him back down, Lanaeis nods at the instructions, crouching as he readies himself to spring into action, eyes focused on the spirits as he also seems to track Sam's progress somehow based on the twitch of his fingers as if counting down along with the circle being opened.
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.
Carefully, Sam slides that knife across the triangle, and in it's wake, a shadow follows. He draws carefully towards the middle, his hand stops. Vines.
He growls, tugging on the spectral vines, and while the jock certainly seems to have the strength, it's slowing him down.
Carefully, Sam slides that knife across the triangle, and in it's wake, a shadow follows. He draws carefully towards the middle, his hand stops. Vines.
He growls, tugging on the spectral vines, and while the jock certainly seems to have the strength, it's slowing him down. (repost)
Immediately leaps into action as the banishing circle begins to opened. For a moment, he's there, and then, he's streaking through the air, landing on the far side of the spirits and avoiding the vines altogether. While unarmed, his work is no less efficient, as in a moment, gold mixed with black begins tearing into the spirits, a whirlwind of spectral wings and nearly blurred movements driving against the spirits, sending them back towards the triangle as it continues to slowly open. Though they are moving, it seems Lanaeis is watching Sam's progress, as the spirits don't come flooding in immediately, instead being held back until Sam manages to fully open the circle for the ghostly warriors.
With a final PULL, Sam finishes the rite, and a hiss escapes the shadows that now ooze into the shape. Like a vaccuum, the bloody triangle starts to suck in nearby specters. Sam's hand keeps that blade in place, and his eyes gleam a little behind those glasses. He nods his head. "Good!"
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.