— i'll say a prayer, as i cast it to the flame

[redsoil]

WHO: set & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: check headers for specific dates/times
WHAT: a catch-all for everything during his time in-game
WARNINGS: physical violence, mentions of sexual abuse, hanahaki syndrome, etc.

Comments

[redsoil]

[ Rogue. Rascal. Scoundrel. He's got a lot of old-timey insults to hurl! ]

Haa? You're going to play sinless until I take it off your body, aren't you!

[ Fine, then! Let this be a challenge to reclaim his property, especially as the thief meets his blow with such fervor. There is obvious skill in his stance, his reactions suggestive of someone accustomed to combat - whether it be a backalley brawl or a drawn-out battle, Set would like to know. One day. Right now, he's focused on getting back what's his.

When forced back, he bounces on his toes once, twice, reorienting his weight to one side. He goes low this time, around the watery slice of the young man's power, rushing him with a feint; while his the flat of his lower leg is clearly aimed at Tartaglia's stomach, he uses the teleportation spark to maneuver from the front of his body, to the back instead. ]

[lackluster]

[ Even if this isn't supposed to be a drawn-out battle, Set will soon find out that Tartaglia can't be fooled by such tricks. A battle-hardened warrior like him is more than accustomed to reacting appropriately when his opponent attempts to bait out a specific reaction from him, switching between his Vision and Delusion almost instantly to give himself an electric boost in speed.

He moves out of the way of Set's leg, practically crackling with electro energy. His blades have now transitioned into pure violet hues rather than their earlier shade. ]

I'd like to see you try.

[ If this man isn't going to back down, then he won't either.

He wastes no time in bridging the distance between them again, unleashing a flurry of attacks without missing a beat. A forward slash here, a diagonal swipe of his blades there; all aimed to keep Set in a reactionary position until he can wear him down. ]

[redsoil]

[ Honestly, he'd expected to ambush the thief and quickly force them into submission. The red-tinged wrath that flicks at the edge of his mind begins to mingle with the subtle call of his domain, of his nature -- those who are capable in battle just suit his fancies, and this one is clearly an individual with skill. It means he'll pick up the pace, less now to obtain what was lost to him, and more to test Tartaglia's condition. ]

Fine.

[ He breathes the word, low and predatory, rife with some sort of natural desire for this -- for battle, and war. The flurry of attacks that reaches him do force him into defense, his form weaving and flowing as he seizes items near to his hands and utilizes them to take the brunt of the blows. Where a bucket shatters under a strike of electricity, a table is merely shoved high into the air; chaos reigns around them, as Set gives less and less space -- finally thrusting a hand out to seize the storm blade entirely, letting the shock of it tear up his limb and catch in his throat.

It hurts, but he is made of sterner stuff than most humans. Flesh sizzles and alights, his bones visible below the violet flicker. ]

-- you're a marvelous warrior. Too bad you stole from the god of war himself.

[ His turn, as his leg lifts one of the broken poles previously supporting an awning into his hand -- and he wheels with it, to strike out. Flexing between staff and spearmanship with well-practiced ease. ]

[lackluster]

Is that supposed to scare me?

[ Tartaglia is always drawn in by the promise of chaos, much like a moth that doused itself in gasoline before heading right to an open flame. He can tell that this man is strong. He doesn't need a whole lot to happen in order to come to that conclusion. Just watching Set grapple with his blade with his bare hands is enough to paint the picture.

In the back of his mind, he wonders if he'd need to reach into the Abyss and call upon the Foul Legacy. The excitement that rises up is almost too intense to handle.

Right before the pole connects with him, he melds both of his blades at the ends and turns it into a spear, meeting the brunt of that attack head-on with a block. He grins wildly when he succeeds before putting all of his strength into pushing Set away from him, electricity crackling all around them. It gathers at the base of their feet, and grows in intensity until it's ready to burst and send them both flying if neither is careful enough.

Tartaglia is ready for it, of course, always willing to put himself in danger if it meant bringing his opponent down with him. ]