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The Death of Eron: Seaward Smokes Him Out

Tags: Eron,  Yussef

Short Summary: Bereft of his supporters, Eron makes a furtive attempt to enter the Dark Citadel undetected. His plans go awry when the Tower Lieutenant of Seaward, Yussef, comes upon him by chance.

Players: Eron, Yussef

Date (real-life): 2011-03-13
Scene Location: Umbar: Outside the Dark Citadel
Date (in-game): 2 June, 3052
Time of Day: Just before Dawn
Weather: Clear and warm

Rath Bad-nez

The Rath Bad-nez continues its circuit around the western edge of the inner wall. A huge, intricately constructed church or temple dominates the area. Multi-spired and dark, the citadel is an ominous presence.


The dawn is all but broken out. The sky is brightening and the stars overhead have begun to fade, disappearing one by one. Torches still light the streets, but this one is in stillness; the shadier folk of the night have vacated Rath Bad-nez, and the shady folk who dwell hither in daytime have yet to appear. It is a transitory period, of sorts. Granted, there are some that are always out. A beggar there, another there; an industrious merchant walking down the street with his hand-drawn wagon.

What appears to be a soldier, from his attire -- which is warlike enough -- and one of Seaward from the designs his arms carry. Yussef, lieutenant of that same Guard. Slowly, gaze roving the depths of every alley he passes, he makes his way towards the Dark Citadel.

There is another here this day. Several days past the Seaward tower explosion of Lord Eron, he's not been seen, and not been found. Most of his men have either abandoned the city, or been killed, but Eron was never among them.

It is now, he could come into view.

A raggad cloak about him, he shambles towards The Dark Citadel, seemingly just another beggar who hopes to find food lodging or coin amongst the acolytes of Dark religion. but the morning's sun betray's him, the glint of chain escaping the filthy garment from time to time.

"You there!"

Yussef's tread is halted, momentarily, before it gains some in pace. Eyes turned on the concealed Eron, yet free of suspicion: "Wait a moment!"

Eron does not stop his shambling, giving the illusion he either cannot hear or is simply ignoring the tower, lieutenant. Hands disappear into the cloak though, which to a trained eye, could appear mildly suspicious.

Frown setting on his mien, Yussef's tread hastens to a mild jog.

"In the name of Seaward, stop, I say!"

The street is emptying now of what patronage it has, and the shuffling of Eron is increased, he's only one hundred meters from the gates of The Citadel. Soon he's within the last series of market stalls upon the street.

'Tis not long before the guard-lieutenant is within half a dozen paces. "Oi!" He breathes.

"You have no need to flee from me; I only..." Frown deepening as his glance shifts here and there, noting perchance the what lies neath the folds of the ragged cloth Eron shrouds himself in, Yussef's speech falters, for a moment.

The stoppage of speech is all Eron needs at this pace. The feared warrior of two forms throws back is cloak, revealing the armed and armored Eron.

"For seaward indeed cur... Feel pain in the name of The Eye!" He snarls ferally as he changes direction to come straight at Yussef, the Famous Nurn scimitar Devotion flashing across his midsection in an effort to cut the man inhalf.

The guardsman's roundshield is brought to bear, only just in time to carry the brunt of the blow. It is such that Yussef staggers a step in the other direction, stance lowered, knees bent in resistance. His eyes, widened, over the rim of the shield, level on Eron's. "You!"

Quick as that, the stabbing-spear in his right lances out even as he himself moves forward; a thrust from below aiming to spit the renegade on a... well, stick.

A sharply pointed one at that.

The battle prowess of Eron is enough to waver the resolve of even the most veteran warriors of Umbar. Especially given his revealed Easterling Heritage. "Fool..." Eron spits as with a seemingly ackward twist of his shoulders, the Spear moves harmlessly past Eron as he steps in to further close the gap and try to gut the Seaward Warrior.

Failure turns Yussef's step in a different direction; the right, his sidestep motion meant to keep the shieldbarrier between him and the other -- but it does him little good. He staggers off to the right; the lower rim of his shield exploding in a hail of splinters, the arm itself awkwardly held to his side. Another step before he regains his foothold. A red wetness spreads on his left midsection, the stain spreading underneath the broken remnants of the roundshield, and he bends slightly over the wound.

A half-hearted thrust is offered in turn; in the midst of the third step back. Half hearted, to the face.

Again Eron moves as if guided by forces beyond this world, the spear moving harmlessly by. "I end you, and through you, draw my line within the sand..." Eron spits at the man, sidestepping the passing spear in a ferocious attempt to remove the arm holding the weapon from the man.

Bit by bit, Yussef's barrier is diminished by the onset. But instead of blocking head on, he lashes out with his shield to turn Eron's blade.

"That may be," He pants, as his right arm draws back for another strike. "But the City is looking for you. Others are coming. How long do you think you have?"

From the side of the shield, at Eron's shoulder.

Eron twists again, batting the spear wide with the shield back. Eron is smiling, wild eyes frantic, as if part of Eron is already with the Dread Lord. "Umbar holds no sway over me, nor does it's worthless inhabitants." Eron hisses, again chopping out towards the spear arm of Yussef.

The weaponwielding arm retratcts, and twists like so; haft and and limb both evading the blow.

"You can not win, Vain."

'Tis stated on a calm voice, although uttered through ragged breaths. The red trickes down Yussef's side now; his posture slightly more bent. His response: the twist out of the sword's reach becomes a sweep in the other direction, the spearpoint slashing at Eron's head and shoulders.

Eron ducks. The blade whistling overhead as Eron lunges. "I find you're lack of faith disturbing." He growls as he tries to burst his scimitar through Yussef, and end this conflict to prepare for the next.

Staggering, more than dancing, in a sideways avoidance, Yussef's grip of the spear shifts as he retaliates with a slash -- if it can be named thus -- with the butt end of spear, down at Eron's crown.

"Submit, and your death will be clean."

Eron ducks again, chuckling, but offering no responde, as he meerly brings his Scimitar to bare, aiming the blade towards the unarmored section of neck...Not far from the man's wagging tongue.

Back and down, the wind of the scimitar's pass stirs Yussef's unkempt hair. A narrow miss, one might say.

His left knee buckles in the sudden movement, the shield set against the pavement with a low clunk of wood. But he is not remiss in answering, thrusting upwards at Eron's belly with a snarl.

Eron sidesteps the spear, and the movement brings Yussef closer to the Murderous Easterling. A twirling flash of steel, and Eron brings the blade to The Seawarder again, unceremoniously trying to hack pieces of the man before him off, again trying to 'disarm' the Lieutenant.

The shield is lifted, in an almost flailing attempt to again bar the way between them and too turn the curved sword aside. Not for naught, but the scimitar still cuts into his right arm.

Staggering backwards, Yussef regains his foothold; but for the nonce, it seems all is energy is spent on that singular purpose: distance.

Eron walks towards the seemingly defeated man. "You are as weak as the rest of your pathetic race..." Eron says, as he stabs at Yussef again. There is no mercy within his eyes.

The spear is brought to bear against the scimitar.

Yet, wood is weaker than steel -- cut in twain, the one piece falls to the cobbles in a clatter of wood and iron, and the other is cast from Yussef's grip. A groan escapes him at the impact; his backwards step staggered. "You can't win."

It is a whisper. An almost frantic whisper; with a note of panic in it -- but it is not for Eron. Yussef's incredolous gaze loses its focus for a brief, brief moment. It is for himself:

"He can't win."

"Die Filth." Eron snarls, as he brings his blade to bare again, his grip harsh and uncaring as he stabs the weapon towards yussef's neck.



Date added: 2011-03-14 21:50:04    Hits: 67
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