Duel:Adain v Sarun

From HollowWiki

Sarun catches a glimpse of another form through the misty shower that the waterfall issues. More prey, and some nice target practice. Instinctively the assassin lowers his stance and hops into the more shallow end of the pool of water. Like some type of bipedal chameleon he lurks forth, that dark robe slowly shifting to a murky blue color similar to the water that swirls about his ankles. Slow, steady steps are taken as he advances upon this newfound prey, his right hand slipping into the abyss that is beneath his cloak to secure some unseen object. Then, those small ripples that issued upon his light steps suddenly enlarge; which only makes sense seeing as how his pace quickens. Still silent in approach the magically-enhanced speedster closes in on Adain, setting his sights upon the retreating man’s back. Then, the man is gone, a masterful leap sending him airborne and through the curtain of water. This ascent brings upon yet another shifting of colors amongst his clothing, always similar to the elements around him. With nary a footprint marking his landing upon solid ground, he quickly works into yet another short leap- those rapid feet never slowing between his springing advancements. Mid-air is the point at which the assassin swings his concealed arm forth in a flash of silver, his wicked katana trailing in his arm’s wake. Now that was probably some warning to Adain. A half-second wasn’t too much though, seeing as how the human had already engaged the lycan. One, swift downward slash meant to tear across the enemy’s back is issued as Sarun lands, and at the same moment his left hand surges forth in a punch—a small glint of steel rips forth as he does so, his mechanical wrist blade called upon once again as he surprises his foe.


Adain takes a deep breath of the crisp air that was filled with the chilling mist from the falls, his chest expanding with the refreshing breath. The worn black leathers that hung from his form wavered lightly in the breeze coming off the waterfall, his fingers caressing the pommel of Winter’s Bite as it hung at his side. His ears perked slightly at the swift and nearly silent steps nearing him, another assassin. Adain snarls slightly, this fight may give him more trouble than his last few, maybe even the first defeat he had tasted in some time. With this thought passed through his mind a soured look passes his unshaven face, the remembrance of that bitter taste welling up in his mouth and causing the scowl. The thought passes through his mind ‘I will not lose so easily any more.’ Reaching inside his black leathers the lycan draws forth a small dagger that glimmered in the moonlight, the silvered rays catching its frosted edge and sparkling with the chill power imbued in it. Dropping low and twirling about, Adain flicks this weapon up to catch the downwards stroke of the katana that reached out to rend his flesh. In this sudden arc of motion the dagger melts, Adain’s control over ice re-molding its icy form to whatever he willed. The katana crashes down on the weapon raised to block it with a shower of frost, the dagger’s new shape a pair of clawed knuckles entwined in the lycan’s grasp. ‘Not so fast…’ Adain snarls, his pointed canines showing as he speaks before taking a sharp breath and spitting the foul taste from earlier directly at the assassin’s eyes. The spit glimmers in its path, chill powers placed in it to freeze the liquid solid on contact.


Sarun recoils as that icy breath collides with his currently-hapless form. Shards of ice bite through both cloak and robe to find that tender flesh, causing squirts of blood to rip out and coalesce with the frozen shards that fly past him. Dropping to a knee, Sarun then lunges towards his enemy- his cloak billowing above his darting form giving him a ghastly look as he glides across the stony floor. With trained ease the assassin snatches at the enemy’s ankle while swinging his left forearm to meet with Adain’s ribcage. This crafty maneuver sends the lycan sprawling backwards against the moist, and bloodied, stone. With no hesitation in his step, the human surges onto his fallen foe. With a mighty swing, Sarun aims a punch for the chest of the fallen lycan- only to have it snatched mid-flight by the vicious beast. Issuing a growl of his own the masked man urges the trapped appendage downwards, his wrist-blade yearning to taste the magicked blood of a lycanthrope. As Sarun dropped for the takedown his katana was let free to tumble across slippery floor; this proved both a hindrance and beneficial. The right hand of the ambidextrous fighter now flies in to aid its trapped brethren, a similar blade revealing itself on the underside of his arm as he seeks to pummel Adain to a bloody pulp.


Adain gasps in pain as the fist connects with his ribs, the solid thud of the blow resounding about plainly in the clear air near the falls. Once he lands on his back against the stone leading up to the path around the falls, the assassin lunges in to make another trained attempt on his life. Grasping for anything he could to catch the humans attack, Adain manages to latch his palm about the man’s wrist, his grip tight as vices around the smaller wrist in his grasp. As Sarun forsakes his katana and reaches about to free his left hand with the help of his right, the wrist-blades flicking into place and ready to drink in a fresh taste of victims blood, Adain throws his left hand away from his body in an attempt to shift the man off balance. Without the direct defense of his arm, both wrist blades sink into his flesh, carving channels through his skin to let the crimson fluid beneath seep out. Releasing the assassin’s hand, the enraged lycan takes hold of Winter’s Bite, yet in such close quarters he could not draw the blade fully from the scabbard at his side. Still ripping the blade forth, Adain attempts to send the hilt of the blade into the man’s stomach with all the force he could muster into drawing the blade, then pulling back slightly he would repeat the attack, trying to draw his blade each time.


Sarun gasps for air as the pommel of Winter’s Bite makes contact with his chest, completely knocking the air out of him. Not only once does Adain strike, he has to be a prick about it, but he follows up with a multitude of similar blows. Time after time that pommel strikes home, sending another burst of newly found air from Sarun’s lungs. In his rage, the assassin begins to lose focus and something quite odd happens; despite the fact that he had no oxygen to work off of, Sarun suddenly mounts an offensive of his own. For each blow that rained upon his body, two were traded. With a feral growl the assassin goes to work with his vicious wrist-blades. A series of uppercut-esqe blows are thrown at the grounded lycan, the barbed edges of his flashing blades seeking to rend the man’s flesh to oblivion. Through this gory onslaught Winter’s Bite is also allowed free from its sheathe and it enters the fray with an equal fury. Back and forth the duo exchange blows, but at the moment it seems Sarun has the advantage with his rapid array of punches. But who knows what could happen to the enraged assassin as he blindly tore at the trapped Adain.


Adain:: The emblem brazened upon the lycan’s chest begins to flicker its shadowed flames as the keen blades of Sarun dart and slash at his flesh repeatedly, each unblocked attack forming a new pore for the lycan’s blood to flow forth. In desperation Adain forces his injured arm up into the fray, the limb nearly numb from blood loss but still flicking about to catch the incoming blades and even make a few counter-slashes of its own. Winter’s Bite, now free in Adain’s right hand, twists and turns about between the two men, knocking aside some flicks of the incoming blades with its frost-touched steel. In desperation Adain finally drops his blade, grasping his own injured arm just above the wounds, then with a tremendous effort wrings the free-flowing blood from his arm down towards the icy claws in his grasp. The blood smears along his black leathers, carried by his hand down to the ice that glimmers with a menacing newness. A light cloud of chilled air raises from his hands as his frozen magics pass through his veins to collect in his palms, ready to be expelled at the cryomancer’s command. As his right hand passes over the formed claws of ice, they shimmer and flow, a new shape being pressed upon them by the chill magic. The blood streaked ice blasts outwards from Adain’s hand in two dozen or so frozen darts, each tip smeared with the lycan’s contaminated blood to infect the assassin with the malady that affected Adain as the darts seek out his warm flesh to drink in the heated blood flowing therein.


Sarun is sliced by the keen edge of Winter’s Bite and acted as a target bale for those shards of ice. Both steel and frost works into his ravaging frame due to Adain’s finesse and skill. After a particularly gory moment (Sarun found a vessel upon the lycan’s arm and he parried back with a straight thrust to the chest) the human decides to give it up. So, at long last, he is tossed from the beaten form of the spell blade; his skid across the stone away from Adain marked by a trail of blood. Some ten feet away now, he slowly pulls himself to a knee, retracting both blades with a simple flick-o’-wrist. Blood drips from beneath his mask and the wounded soldier of Eyren pants as he sits opposite of his opponent. “You shoulda’ made it easy on yourself.” Sarun says to the fallen Adain who, like the assassin, is swimming in his own pool of blood. Continuing to speak through his dark mask he says, “A second encounter will not end in you being so lucky.” The crazed man suddenly pulls himself to a full stand- blood spraying from his form through the sudden motion. With a limp, he works his way to his katana, picks it up, and sheathes it beneath his flowing cloak of dragonscale. Not looking back, he continues out of the cave. Through and through his robe never failed to match its surroundings- the thing seemed oblivious to its owner’s condition. Hell… he’d live.