It has been a long time since the Hopeslayer had set foot on the grounds of Dori'ba. Within it's haunted soil held the secrets that would assure Tariq's rise to unholy power. He had almost forsaken it; Left it buried underneath a pile of short-lived fantasies and disappointments. However, he realized his mistake before it became to late and backtracked to his true roots. Allying himself with the Maia would hurt him more than help him. He was no servant, not even to the underlings of Gods. No, he was destined to rule over others, not the reverse. Meaningless destruction only served as a hindrance to his progress and talents. And participating in organized battles hosted by a Celestial? Tariq must have almost lost his head for the sake of discord.

That was many weeks ago. Realizing his fault and error, Tariq sought the help of a Sorceress keen in the arcane followings of Black Magic to assist him in a forbidden ritual. Through nightmarish trials, Tariq's Atani blood and Urulóki blood were completely separated. The result was that Tariq reverted to a full-blooded Atani, while his Urulóki blood took the form of a massive ebony-colored Fire Dragon named Malificus. The two instantly fought in order to gain the other's power. The battle lasted for days upon end with neither side letting up. It seemed as if the two were equal in power, with each knowing each other's exact moves and battle patterns.

It wasn't until Tariq learned the name of his katana that the battle ended. Kausu'yasumi, known as Chaos's Respite, conjured up a massive dragon-shaped slash that beheaded Malificus and made it possible for Tariq to regain his full arsenal of Black Magic back. More powerful than he had ever been before, Tariq remembered his quest to rule over all of Arda. Knowing he'd need a massive army to make this nightmare a reality, he returned to the black lands of Dori'ba. Tonight would be the best night of them all to control the entire mass of the undead. On this, the Eve of the Black Hollow, the most powerful of all Lich and Undead Warlords returned to the planes of the living to feast on the souls of the weak.

He rested his back against a deteriorating stone pillar and folded his arms across his chest. Kausu'yasumi was strapped snuggling across his back and simply begged to be used in the midst of battle. Now that Tariq had awaken it's spirit from such a deep slumber, it's thirst for blood was almost insatiable. It was truly a demonic blade and a bringer of absolute chaos. It wouldn't be long before the moon was completely covered by the black orb of Va'oult, an object of necromancy forged in the planes of the ethereal to control the souls of the undead and summon them to other planes at a sorcerer's whim. In order to obtain it, Tariq need only to defeat the horde of Lich and Warlords that come at him this night. A simple enough task, as long as he isn't distracted.

She always knew this mission was suicide. Every year, on this exact day, they would send the most unorthodox, or unreliable Knight Reitara to try and halt the the tide of undead. It was a nice way of saying: We don't want you anymore, so do the Order a last service. Ayre was annoyed, to say the very least about her situation. This night was also notably peaceful, as the normal undead new better than to get up and try to live through this massive event. Ayre walked for hours, completely bored, with nothing at all to do. She just had to get to the middle of Dori'ba, then die, or flee, or win, and do whatever she wanted to.

Her armaments were full, complete, and not enough. Her resplendent armor, made almost entirely of chain for full mobility, fit her as tightly as the finest crafted stocking. Her blades were idle at her hips, but both could be summoned in a blink. But her real attachment was the little sphere she was rolling around in the base of her helm. She made it follow the inner curvature with quick spins, or allowed it to roll around the base with slow ones. It was awfully pretty, and went along excellently with her white resplendent armor. Ayre took this moment to realize how female she was.

That was of course when her elven and resplendent sight caught a single man, leaning against a pillar. He was no undead. Her mind flickered back to her training, and she remembered what would happen if anyone actually survived this fight tonight. Some powerful object of some sort. Either way, no one was getting it.

She drew up a small, sleek white orb into her fingers, and pressing it between her middle and ring finger, it started to spin. Blades deployed from its side, and it made a dangerous little humming noise. With a smile beneath her helm, she unleashed the tiny little doomsayer. It hurtled into the air, and hurtled straight after the man. Shuriken Sentinels were wickedly bloodthirsty, and were excellent little hounds. Windcutter and Nameless appeared in her hands in a flash of light, and she charged. Both blades cut spirals through the air as she cast the first spell in her arsenal, Blur. Her speed changed from a sprint to a ground devouring blur. Five. She drew up Windcutter into a position for a lunge. Four. Nameless came up for a block. Three. The Shuriken Sentinel swept in for a strike across his right shoulder. Two. Her mind shifted only to victory, and allowed her muscle memory to command the fight entirely.

One. Ayre struck, Windcutter lashing out to claim the life of her opponent. Windcutter came in directly for a torso stab, the devastatingly keen adamantium blade capable of shattering men and living dead with ease. She had crossed the distance between her and her opponent in moments, and her heavy armor practically guaranteed total victory.

The time of the Black Hollow was almost at hand, judging by the progress of the Va'oult. It had almost three quarters of the lunar star consumed in it's wretch black being. Once it complete eclipsed the moon, the skies above Dori'ba would turn a dull green and the clouds would gather and swirl around the Va'oult as they themselves became a deep black. This would be the sign of the beginning of the Black Hollow, and countless powerful undead would rise again to feast on the only source of everlasting might; mortal souls. They would have a hindrance tonight, a boundary that they would not overcome. A powerful Duskblade known only at the Hopeslayer would stand in their ways with his eyes upon the Va'oult's powers. Defeat the army of animated carcasses and a prize far greater than any could behold would be his.

As Tariq gazed upon the perfectly spherical image of the Va'oult many miles above his head, these thoughts of grandeur and victory swam within his skull. He was slowly growing closer to his overall goal of complete control over the entire realm of Arda. Allies were falling at his feet, new pathways to secret powers were opening to him, and the followers of Light were becoming weaker with each passing sun cycle. It was almost laughable how fate was making his every wish slowly come true. And it would all start with a large army of undead warriors at his disposal. And just when he was becoming completely absorbed in his deepest thoughts, the sound of a high buzzing snapped him back to reality.

In the distance and looming ever closer, was a small object. Golden by Tariq's examination and spinning at a rapid pace. He could not tell if it meant him any harm or not, but judging by it's speed and path, he was in it's way. A little ways beyond it, a blur of gold was following close behind. It was only by Tariq's keen vision that he was able to discern the vision as a female figure rushing at him with ill intentions. Tariq snarled and reached into the reservoir of his mind. Grasping around a particular magic spell, Tariq's body became enveloped in a dim orange glow, before he completely disappeared. Teleport. He reappeared a few yards to the northeast of his old position and looked as the warrior attacked the pillar he had leaned upon, leaving it but scattered rubble on the ground.

"You will pay dearly for disrupting my solitude, knight." Tariq spat, his eyes focusing on the female figure before him, clad in bright gold armor and wielding a large sword of some type. She was obviously not her to join forces with him.

Ayre's eyes fell upon him in amusement. A coward. But alas and alack, he was doomed. He wasn't armed for the coming fight at all, he lacked armor, and Ayre allowed the little device to flicker back to her side. She spun around Nameless and Windcutter in her hands yet again, and took a moment to stand at ease before her opponent.

"I'd be more concerned about how much of a coward you are. Stand and fight a five foot three inches elven girl like a man." Ayre taunted. Her blades spun around again, trails of white magic ringing the air around her. A second spell fell upon her, one of draconic might. Ah, now things would get fun. She kicked her blur spell up to full speed, and threw her shuriken sentinel up into the air. It whirred endlessly, awaiting another order from her.

"Of course, if you feel like running from me, you likely won't be up to the next challenge this night holds." Ayre said as sweetly as possible. Alack and alas, this fight was nearly over as it was. If he teleported too much, he'd fall victim to a drain of magic. The moment that happened, his defeat was assured. But now wasn't the time for consideration. Both blades came ready again, and she cracked a grin he couldn't see.

Suddenly, she was upon him. A few yards were not enough distance at all for one enchanted with the blur spell. She started her swing early, and the moment she came upon him both blades would shatter him. But nothing could be perfect, so the blades would come for another strike. At roughly the moment her blades would land, she'd give the shuriken sentinel another order. To strike him. If he teleported away, the orb would fall upon him in moments. Ayre was rather pleased with herself.