[Ibakha smirks, confrontational, a hand sliding down to the rapier at her side.]
Aye, the sun is a fitting title for you. Full of heat but no substance, blustering high on its own importance, so far removed from the world it has no say on anything that goes on underneath it.
[Her smirk has shifted, more outright *wicked*.]
Or if that was too complicated for you to understand... Try it if you dare. Perhaps, if you show valor in your fate, I may make a Dotharl out of you.
Small surprise that such a cur who skulks and skitters about the shadows would know little and less of the world. Without the sun, we would be naught. Without it, we would lack order—the sun commands all, and all shall bow before its radiance.
[He smirks, hiding his irritation behind smugness.]
Pray, cling to your simplistic understanding of the world around you, see how it has delivered you and yours to the far reaches of the Steppe, and away from the Dawn Throne that once was yours.
[Finally he stands, but makes no move to grasp his axe.]
Posturing will only afford you so much, child. If you wish to die a disgraced death, so be it.
[If Sadu cannot bring him down after three consecutive days of fighting, he has little hope this woman will prove much of a challenge.]
[Still laughing, she draws her rapier, letting the crystal float up behind her.]
There is no cowardice in knowing when you are outmatched, Magnai Oronir. Even the basest beasts of the land and skies know to hide from those mightier than they. Sit, and you may keep your life, and even your fancy chair. Take your axe, and... Well, it is not the Dotharl way to deny one who seeks a glorious death.
Aye, as you continue to prove as such. For all your arrogance, an empty mind produces empty words, and they are but air with their weight.
[He looks rather unimpressed. Foreign magics mean little to him, particularly when he has faced Sadu's reckoning and lived just fine.]
I would must needs be faced with a warrior that could outmatch me first. If you wish to bring me such a contender, then I will gladly bow to their superiority, but seeing as I have naught before me than vermin...
[He'll allow the trailing off to finish the clear implication. He looks to his men that guard the doors, and what few lingered inside upon her entry, before gesturing to take her away.]
Dispose of this waste, for I am a warrior, and not a ratter, and such chores are below one such as I.
[Foreign magics aren't all she's got, unfortunately. She's spent most of her time in the wilds. She's developed a style of her own, more wild than the controlled movements of a proper Red Mage.
Which is to say, she moves fast. Corps-a-corpse draws her to the first guard, whom she uses for Displacement, by using the momentum of her first charge to run up the poor man, and backflip off of his face, landing behind the second guard, and launching a barrage of aetherial swords with Contre Sixte. Then she's lunging again, launching into her melee combo, and capping it off with a simultaneous Verflare... and a kick straight to the gut.
The guards dispatched almost as quick as a blink, because nameless NPCs are never worth anything in a fight, she turns back to Magnai, smirking still.]
I am Ibakha Wanderer. I am he whose feet have touched all the lands of Hydaelyn. I am she who has brought low gods. Shall you be next?
[Magnai watches dutifully of her technique, and while he's hardly glad that his men have fallen—more likely injured than rightfully dead, though some quite possibly the latter—he finds himself inspired to take his axe in hand. Her moves were wild, not unlike that of a beast, but even beasts have their predictability. Nothing is as unpredictable as the battlefield, where scores of bloodthirsty Xaela take up arms and clash—one false move could end it for you, whether foe or friend, if you were not careful, a thoughtless gesture could very well be your last.
He grins, as amused as he is annoyed.]
Very well, 'tis plain you pine to bask in my light.
[He gestures to the large doors.]
Allow us to take this outside, if we are to do battle, we need adequate space.
[In other words, he needs the space, because he hardly wants to ruin his throne room over some whelp who seems to be begging for his attention right now.]
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valoirs
no subject
Aye, the sun is a fitting title for you. Full of heat but no substance, blustering high on its own importance, so far removed from the world it has no say on anything that goes on underneath it.
[Her smirk has shifted, more outright *wicked*.]
Or if that was too complicated for you to understand... Try it if you dare. Perhaps, if you show valor in your fate, I may make a Dotharl out of you.
no subject
[He smirks, hiding his irritation behind smugness.]
Pray, cling to your simplistic understanding of the world around you, see how it has delivered you and yours to the far reaches of the Steppe, and away from the Dawn Throne that once was yours.
[Finally he stands, but makes no move to grasp his axe.]
Posturing will only afford you so much, child. If you wish to die a disgraced death, so be it.
[If Sadu cannot bring him down after three consecutive days of fighting, he has little hope this woman will prove much of a challenge.]
no subject
I? I know little of the world?
[Still laughing, she draws her rapier, letting the crystal float up behind her.]
There is no cowardice in knowing when you are outmatched, Magnai Oronir. Even the basest beasts of the land and skies know to hide from those mightier than they. Sit, and you may keep your life, and even your fancy chair. Take your axe, and... Well, it is not the Dotharl way to deny one who seeks a glorious death.
no subject
[He looks rather unimpressed. Foreign magics mean little to him, particularly when he has faced Sadu's reckoning and lived just fine.]
I would must needs be faced with a warrior that could outmatch me first. If you wish to bring me such a contender, then I will gladly bow to their superiority, but seeing as I have naught before me than vermin...
[He'll allow the trailing off to finish the clear implication. He looks to his men that guard the doors, and what few lingered inside upon her entry, before gesturing to take her away.]
Dispose of this waste, for I am a warrior, and not a ratter, and such chores are below one such as I.
no subject
Which is to say, she moves fast. Corps-a-corpse draws her to the first guard, whom she uses for Displacement, by using the momentum of her first charge to run up the poor man, and backflip off of his face, landing behind the second guard, and launching a barrage of aetherial swords with Contre Sixte. Then she's lunging again, launching into her melee combo, and capping it off with a simultaneous Verflare... and a kick straight to the gut.
The guards dispatched almost as quick as a blink, because nameless NPCs are never worth anything in a fight, she turns back to Magnai, smirking still.]
I am Ibakha Wanderer. I am he whose feet have touched all the lands of Hydaelyn. I am she who has brought low gods. Shall you be next?
no subject
He grins, as amused as he is annoyed.]
Very well, 'tis plain you pine to bask in my light.
[He gestures to the large doors.]
Allow us to take this outside, if we are to do battle, we need adequate space.
[In other words, he needs the space, because he hardly wants to ruin his throne room over some whelp who seems to be begging for his attention right now.]
no subject
But, she needs space to maneuver, too, so she nods, and turns to walk outside without another word.]