39th of Glade, Year 114
Taelian's blade met with the dying Cardinal's talons. He fended off an incoming sweep, and then pushed back with the blunt flat of his blade, attempting to apply enough force to throw her claws away from their defensive posturing. The wrestle between the two of them was brief, and ultimately did not yield positive results for the Ebon Knight. She instead pushed his blade aside, and managed to swipe forward just enough to lay shallow cuts across the exterior of his skin, ripping just slightly through his padded leather armor. Taelian stepped back, gathering some distance and swiped forward, cutting across the surface of the Dranoch's armored claws.
Her hand reeled back, and Taelian immediately responded by slamming the end of his blade again into the courtyard's stone foundations, creating another rising Trail that pursued her. As it did, he prepared a Flamelance in his grip, channeling a greater model of the same flaming pike. As he conjured it he noticed the increase of length and width, and once it was released it was flung with much greater velocity than before, ripping through her shoulder muscles despite a sudden strafe by the Cardinal.
His chest started to hurt, bad. He was nauseous and his lips had begun to dry at a dramatic pace, cracking and bleeding. It was the strange beginnings of threshold sickness, borne of his relative inexperience and the consistent usage of the Sigil in these consecutive battles. He wasn't skilled enough for something like this. Not by any means.
Taelian glanced at the combat between Vendrael and Randil. One of the Dranoch's arms flew from his torso as Vendrael swiped through his flesh with his offhand axe, before quickly rending the Dranoch's remaining arm from his body. Kicking the Cardinal onto the floor, Vendrael drew his axes together against the man's neck, and executed him. His head severed, there was no coming back.
It was one against two. Finally. With so many Ebon Knights lain dead in the Palisade's halls, it was good to know that it was worth it. That Glairen would die.
"It's the end of the road for you," said the Revenant. He kicked Randil's body back to fall flat onto the courtyard floor, blood pooling from the stump of his neck.
"Is that supposed to please you?" she asked.
As Vendrael turned, Taelian could see a deep wound through the core of his abdomen. It was seething with a strange sort of magical blight -- a parasite of course, eating through his interior. He was rapidly dying, and had no time to spare for words. The man quickly ran towards Lady Glairen, both axes extended out to each side, and swung at her with a flurry of vicious swipes. The majority went through, gutting her and ripping across her form until she was covered in bone-deep lacerations that could not be regenerated from. Vendrael's weapons were still alight with the Beacon's fire.
He beheaded her, too. Secured the kill; ensured that all of this would truly be worth it after all.
It all happened so quickly. Taelian was only now beginning to realize that he would be adrift in Silfanore alone.
"Vendrael," the Cleric quietly regarded his dying mentor. He was a Revenant, bond to the Bedchamber. He would come back once he died; all that was left was to...
"Burn my face," the man asked of him. "I can't even channel my ether. Something... is foreign in me. In my body, and deeper. The Cardinal who fought me -- he was a practitioner of some... dark magic. I'm sure of it," the gristled Siltori grunted.
Taelian held his blade outward, Enkindled, the surface covered in a heated aura. He would grant the man's request for anonymity, though he knew he would see him soon.
