Aggressive Heresy.

Aggressive Heresy.
Date of Scene:	03 May 2013
Location:	Golmore Jungle
Synopsis:	Tyrin and Sydney fight it out over the fates of some heretics.
Cast of Characters:	Sydney Losstarot, Tyrin Marius

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Tyrin Marius has posed:
A bit of a chase has been going on at the moment; Those in the nearby castle have likely been muttering up and down the surroundings. It seems the Church of Glabados has tracked down some heretics in the area, although not the sort that might be expected. Civilians in this case, ones who have been on the run. Whoever is after them has been dogged, and they have only a desperate plunge into the jungle.
There are four total, one an elderly matron; wearing peasant clothing, dirtied and torn from time outdoors and hard movement. She is faltering behind as they try to cross a stream, and that cuts an end to this particular chase. Bursting from the vegetation ahead of them is a gallantly dressed knight; crimson cape fluttering behind, hair blond and predominantly wearing the insignia of the Knights Templar. He rides an armored yellow chocobo, brought up to a stop.
Four other Knights come up from behind, fanning out and pinning the four people in the midst of the river, staggering against their legs and making standing difficult. They huddle, as Tyrin Marius pulls out a scroll and unfurls it before him. "In the name of the Church of Glabados, you have been found guilty of providing supplies and shelter to known heretics of the church... And when confronted, you fled. What have you to say for yourself?"
"Mercy, please, we... they made us!!" states the eldest male, hands held up placatingly.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
Plink...Plink...Plink...

Sydney walks alone on a small road through the center of the jungle, his eyes hardset on the scene before him. Once he's finished listening, he sighs. Announcing his presence by scraping his long, metallic claws together, making a greating sound comparable to that of nails upon chalk. Its not painful, but its likely to be very annoying and attention grabbing.

"Ahem. What business have you with these people?"

He announces loudly, an easily recognized valendian accent to his tone. His eyes are narrowed scornfully at Tyrin, and its clear that he means business. He adds on, a bit of a mocking tone to his voice.

"I see you not only spout the nonsense of hellions, yet wield the blade of an ungodly fiend. That can only make you...a templar." He says scornfully, grinning devilishly.

Tyrin Marius has posed:
"...?" Tyrin turns towards the sound of the approaching Sydney, but his expression is immediately distasteful. Blue eyes rove over the peculiar ensemble, bringing his chocobo about slightly to face him fully. "These people are criminals. And I see you wear the raiment of war, yet no emblem of a kingdom? So you are a mercenary. A deposed knight? It matters not. Do you intend to interfere in the affairs of the Church of Glabados?" Those eyes narrow, hand shifting to rest on the hilt of his blade. Nothing about this figure, at least, meshes with the other four Knights. They are meek, cowards plated like turtles, looking unsure. They could be sent fleeing with a show of force or intimidation. But not Tyrin... his resolve is steadfast and true. "I warn you. I have the authority to have you named 'heretic'...!"
The four civilians in the midst of the river remain huddled, looking just as shocked as anyone else. And, it might be noted, highly unsure whether Sydney is an arrival intended to save them or not.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
Sydney laughs amusedly. "You have much authority over your petty religion." Sydney blinks out of existance quickly, reappearing in whatever space lies between Tyrin and his party of accused. "I intend to burn your foolish church to the ground, so that the world might be free of its horrendous existance." He says, grinning devilishly at Tyrin. "...But worry naught, fool. I shall grant you the foolish joys of martyrdom." He says, flicking his claws outward menacingly.

Craning his head over his neck, he turns to look at the fellow heretics. "Flee, you fools." He remarks coldly, before turning his attention back to Tyrin. "If you wish to strike at them, you'd best hope your blade can pierce far." He holds his palm above his head, pulling the malevolent darkness from beyond the void of existance no man dares go, and it explodes over him with an audible thump. His body begins to glow with strange, dark auras.

Tyrin Marius has posed:
Blink. Tyrin widens his eyes, whirling around with barely a moment's hesitation when Sydney shifts location. An impressive show of honed reflexes. The other four knights bark a sound of alarm and flutter their chocobos away in a spurt of feathers, with enough delay that Sydney could have likely slain one and wounded another had it been an attack. "I see. A heretic already?" In a smooth, practiced motion Tyrin Marius slips from his chocobo, carefully guiding it to the side and away from the battle. "Have the civilians move to the other end of the river. There is no need for them to get caught within this." They would be more then willing to slosh free of the water, although the four knights there will ensure that they won't be escaping until things resolve... one way or another.
In a rasp of steel, Tyrin pulls free his blade. It glows lightly, thrumming with some manner of magical energy. His shield flows down his shoulder, secured to his left arm. "I am not here as executioner." he allows, simply. "Merely to see that justice is done...!"
And with that, Tyrin rushes forward, exploding through the water as if it was little obstacle. He whirls his weapon down, but it dances in an irregular line, leaving a crimson flash. aiming to strike him in an armored shoulder. Before in a flare he strikes down twice, both blows aimed primarily at the energy whirling now about Sydney... flashes of heated magic intending to burn away the heretical aura.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
The dark magic fades away, though the natural aura of evil that surrounds Sydney doesn't go away. His pauldron is dented, but not cut. It'll take more than that to cut eldritch metal. It did enough to jam the blade inwards towards Sydney, though, leaving a mild cut on his shoulder. He sighs. "Heretic? Please, what an unfair title. I prefer the term "heathen". Heretic implies I'm one of those innocent fools you burn at the stake day after day for nigh-unexistant crimes." He says, narrowing his eyes to thin slits. Raising his hand above his head, a ball of dark magic begins to coalesce, letters in an ancient text floating around it. They leech darkness from the ball itself, until the letters are throbbing malevolently. They fly towards Tyrin, snaking through the air with an almost inhuman noise. Sydney just grins devilishly.

"Tell me, fool. How large would you like the pike your head shall rest on to be?"

Tyrin Marius has posed:
The fierce onslaught of dark energies causes Tyrin to tense, bringing his shield forward with a light curse. It's struck dead center, and knocked askance; hitting true the center of the Knight Templar, scouring away the front of the tunic to reveal more filligried plate and mithril beneath. The darkness whirls up from the wound, gradually diffracting away. "Heathen. I see." This seems to be a distinction for Tyrin. "Then you are an enemy of the church, but not a Brave..." Gripping the hilt of his blade, it is snapped down, and the last lingering traces of magic are purged in Tyrin's vicinity. "As high a pike as you can spare, then. For I will watch down from the heights, content I lived my life just...!!" Again he approaches, although this time he roars; a deafening noise that actually causes a spray of water in all directions. Two brutal stabs forward are done with his blade, aiming to slam into Sydney's midsection hard and stagger him backwards.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
"GUH."

Sydney lets out a hard breath as he feels the air knocked out of him by that attack, reaching down to touch the blood coming from the gash. Bah, the Blood-Sin will quell the pain enough to keep Sydneys mind on the task at hand...but thats gonna /hurt/ later. "Hmph. Braves. Don't compare me to them. I am not foolish enough to let myself play the hart this time. I shall be the hunter! And your foolish friends, my prey!" He says with an almost maniacal laugh. He's at a bit of a distance since the spear knocked him back...but not for long.

VWOOM.

Sydney disappears in another quick flash, reappearing to the side of Tyrin, hoping to catch him off guard. Raising his hands above his head, he charges up another magical dark-alphabet, snaking its way through the air as it attempts to strike Tyrin.

"'Tis good to see the same fanaticism so common among templars in you. Now, I shall take no guilt in watching your corpse gnawed by the vultures!"

Tyrin Marius has posed:
"...you are the most simple of villains." Tyrin states. He looks to remain quite composed, really. Perhaps there's a touch of pity within his eyes. "You know me not, yet you hate me due to my allegiance. My love of the Church, which brought me up, sheltered me, and gave my family purpose? Enough... I shall purge this heresy like any other!!" Although dancing darkness is definitely not something he's well-equipped to deal with. His shield raises, but they whirl about, homing in to strike clean all the same. Coughing heavily, his stance within the water hardens, before Tyrin explodes forward in a brutal frontal assault. Bringing his weapon back, he whirls a few quick cuts, flash of red again obscuring the blade amidst the rapid strikes. But then he darts forward in a short dash, attempting to strike the center clean into Sydney. Which would result in a sharp crash of arcane energy, likely leaving his eldritch plate glowing and vulnerable in the aftermath...!

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
The blade meets its target with ease, Sydneys not the fastest. Thanks to the rapidity of the strikes, none of them are hard enough to pierce Sydney clean through, but they're enough to hurt. Blood leaks out, running to the floor. He looks up, scorn in his eyes. "Villain? Coming from the self-righteous brat who was just about to murder a group of people because they think differently than you? Please, you are so cliche it strikes me as cartoonish." ...What? Sydney watches TV sometimes...not much else to do when you've got no friends. Sydney raises his hands above his head, another violent explosion of dark energy overtaking him as he attemps to regain the buffs Tyrin was clever enough to remove.

Jerk.

Tyrin Marius has posed:
"I told you. I was not going to hurt them." Tyrin states matter of factly. "They were to be taken in for questioning by the Church. If they are innocent, then they have nothing to fear." Peculiarly, this seems to be absolute truth. Of course nobody branded an aid to heretics is going to survive an inquisition, but if this Templar is aware what that sentencing means, it's not apparent. He holds his weapon up, closing his eyes in focus and turning the blade to the side. Before he suddenly roars out once more, launching forward with his shield held up guardingly. But then he strikes out with it towards Sydney's face, revealing his sword to be glowing bright red as he focuses the destructive techniques of his knighthood fully within it. And then he swings down, a catastrophic overhead blow intended to cleave the other man from shoulder to hip. "BE PURGED...!!"

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
VWOOOM.

Sydney laughs evilly from behind Tyrin, echoing through the air with an almost ethereal tinge. "Oh, I'm /sorry/. Was that aimed at me? Perhaps you should go purge a few trees for an hour or two." He says mockingly, before simply shaking his head. He lifts his palm, and an almost incredible amount of Dark Magic begins to fall from the sky like snow. It condenses into a ball, vibrating violently for a few seconds before setting off a violent explosion that can best be described as a 'Dark Elemental-Nuclear Ultima spell." If it makes contact, its gonna /hurt/.

While the attack is charging, Sydney takes a moment to monologue. "Are you really so trusting a fool to believe they have any chance? Tell me, have you /ever/ seen someone accused of heresy leave alive, regardless the evidence?" Once he's done, Boom-boom.

Tyrin Marius has posed:
Well, damn. Tyrin is a knight; he's actually had minimal exposure to this sort of supernatural assault. When a man can teleport like that... it opens up a whole new dimension of combative options. Being pelted by falling snow certainly makes things more awkward, and his focus is lost as he tries to deflect harmess snowfall. Well, harmless at the onset. When it coalesces together, he's truly got no defense beyond a loud cry of defiance. A huge spray of water goes into the air. Certainly no normal individual would have survived that... but when the mist disperses, Tyrin remains standing. His armour is blackened, cloak and tunic shredded. Blood runs down his face, but he still seems steadfast. "...I am not called in for the questionable heretics. I am called in for the enemies... of the church. Both large... and small." Stumbling forward, teeth grit through the blood. He can't lift his shield anymore... but as long as he can swing his sword... with a snarl, he brings his sword to bear, a swift overhead strike. But then the sword flashes brightly red yet again, and a brutal backhand is leveraged at Sydney -- only truly dangerous if he believed that the Knight Templar was completely spent...!!

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
Sydney laughs. "Oh, thats what I /love/ about you templars. No matter how weak your mind is, you people have such wasted willpower. It makes killing you such a shame, knowing you could've accomplished something /useful/ with your life, cur." He says, weakened from the fight...but not as much as Tyrin appears to be. Granted, he looks to be walking the edge as well.

Heartless rise from Sydneys shadow, gazing hungrily with yellow eyes at Tyrin. Sydney grins evilly, remarking "Strike him down. But do not kill him. I need his unconscious form for bargaining." Ohohoho, looks like Sydney knows what he's doing now. He's gonna threaten Tyrius's life, in exchange for the release of the prisoners. Sydney unconsciously considers these things as his heartless leap upon Tyrin, scratching wildly.

Tyrin Marius has posed:
"Tch... spare me your words... you care no more for mine then I do for yours..." Tyrin states dourly. He brings up his sword with effort. Apparently he's not delusional; he is facing his expected death to the last. With a roar he swings down his sword. One of the shadows is cleaved down -- but his blade is caught within it, and the others fall upon him. Driven into the water, struggling and splashing, in short order he goes still. The four knights about the civilians look pale as milk now, unable to assess how closely Sydney might be to defeat as they unsurely grasp the hilts of their own swords, chocobos qwarking in fear.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
Sydney laughs devilishly as Tyrin falls into the water. He could leave him there and allow him to drown...but he needs him alive. He needs someone to get those people out of trouble, and he needs someone to go back and tell the church that he's back, and he means /business/. Grasping Tyrins form carefully, he pulls him out of the water, and puts his bladed claw near his throat. He disappears with Tyrin, porting across the river, near the knights. "Release them, or I will flay the flesh from your commander. And after I'm done with him, I'm going to move on to /you/." He says threateningly, narrowing his eyes threateningly as he lightly touches his claw to Tyrins throat. Not enough to cut, but enough to leave a bit of a mark. The heartless reform in Sydneys shadow, taking a V-formation around him as he loudly chimes "So whats it going to be, curs?"

Tyrin Marius has posed:
"S... strike him down...!" Tyrin manages to cough out near the four knights. "He is..." But he's not really able to say much more, and it's unlikely he'd be allowed to. But the reformed shadows and the threatened Knight Templar does as Sydney desires. These four are not the devout of the Church, the most base of muscle. They murmur lightly, but 'if he loses his head we all lose ours' is easily heard. The four civilians are allowed to hurry away, although the 'thanks' they offer seems unsure and hesitant. Tyrin is still trying to fight back, a feeble hand grasping at Sydney's wrist with the strength of a child. "Bastards..." he manages towards the others who are mounted.

Sydney Losstarot has posed:
The heartless inch closer and closer to the knights, gazing hungrily. "If they try /anything/, tear their hearts out and make them join your ranks." He commands as he walks over, Tyrin still in his arms. Sydneys arms are completely prosthetic (but you couldn't tell by looking), so he can't even feel the grasp, though it might strike Tyrin as him simply being uncaring. He narrows his eyes into thin slits at the knights. "I will be taking the Chocobos. People, mount!" He will wait for them to do as he asked, fully expecting them to do it...they know what happens to heretics. Once they've all mounted, Sydney will take a spot himself on one of the Chocobos, riding infront of one of the others due to their only being four. "Remember what has happened today. Remember how your gods failed you." He says mockingly, throwing Tyrin to the ground before riding off in a flash, likely to traverse town, where the church would be sure to find opposition.

Sydney rides again!

Tyrin Marius has posed:
This is the first time that Tyrin has failed; he has hardly had a wide-spread career, but having his men routed and their chocobos stolen... he makes no comment when flung to the ground, thumping in the mud and laying still as Sydney rides away. The four knights look thoroughly unsure now, but when one moves to help him up his hand is struck away. "Do not touch me..." With great, shaking effort he pushes to his feet, breath huffing out in long exhales. Snapping his fingers, his own chocobo rushes across the river. He almost falls mounting, but lulls forward like the dead. "You can walk." Rearing his mount, Tyrin rushes off into the jungle, back towards the church lands. Sydney's message is certainly going to be passed on.